You're the One that I'm Dreaming Of
by tilleygirl
Summary: What if Marshall and Mary had never met...except in their dreams?  Would they be different people?  Would there be a void they couldn't explain? Would they search for each other?  AU story.
1. New Jersey Dreamin'

_This has been a long time percolating, but the brew is finally ready! Hope you enjoy. Many thanks to Bujyo for editing and encouragement. _

_

* * *

_

**You're the one that I long to kiss,**

**baby, you're the that I really miss**

**You're the one that I'm dreaming of,**

**baby, you're the one that I love**

**The Vogues**

**

* * *

Newark, New Jersey**

**U.S. Marshals Service**

**Fugitive Task Force**

U.S. Marshal Mary Shannon stared at her computer screen, but didn't take in the information displayed. The low pitched hum of conversations, the whine of printers, the swish of co-workers' hurried movements swirled around her. She paid no attention. A mug of cooling coffee held forgotten in her hand, her mind wondered back once again to the dream she had experienced the previous night. She could not seem to shake it. Dreams were a rarity for her to remember, but this one had been so vivid, so real.

Mary Shannon's life consisted of work, keeping her mother out of the drunk tank, work, bailing her baby sister out of trouble, work, the occasional cowboy to relieve stress and work. There was no time or inclination to develop real relationships at home or within her job at the Fugitive Task Force, no time to create a real home for herself, certainly no time for dreams. Definitely no time for dreams that followed her into her waking hours. No time to interpret them, no time to ponder them, no time to allow them to push her off her game.

Mary tapped absently with her pen on the edge of the desk. She had actually awoken from the dream last night, feeling vaguely unsettled. Her breath had hitched sharply in her chest and she had flopped back on her pillow, eyes tracing the outline of the familiar objects in her room, given contrast in the dark by the softly filtered light of the street lamp outside her window. The vibrant scenario had replayed through her head over and over. The colors, the sounds, the smells, the emotions. They were all so real.

_There was a young boy, a distraught family, a court hearing. A hateful judge who was going to tear the boy away from his family. And a man, a tall slender man sitting on a bed, legs stretched out in front of him, peering at his watch. A man who had looked at her with pure affection._

_"Do you have any idea what time it is young lady?" The deep rumble of his voice was familiar, comforting._

_"I might have a problem." She gazed at him from the open doorway. This was someone she trusted completely._

_"You think this is new information?" The undercurrent of amusement was clear, but a hint of concern was there also. Blue eyes were intent in their focus on her._

_"I don't think I can turn him over." She felt a hint of fear, not for herself but for the boy._

_"Okay, but you're going to have to feed him and take him for walks." She allowed herself an internal smirk at his joke. What he was really saying was 'I support your decision.'_

_"I'm serious. They'll kill him." A cold finger of fear looped into her stomach, making her regret the burritos from supper._

_"I know. Just tell me what you need." A familiar phrase. A whisper of something tender underneath the words, sending a small tendril of warmth through her belly._

_"Okay. Thanks." A small smile of gratitude._

_He heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Uh-huh."_

Mary couldn't put her finger on just what kept bringing her thoughts back to that dream, to the man. _A man who asked her 'tell me what you need.' A man who wanted to hear the answer. _He was tall, lanky. The sharp planes of his face and the clear blue of his eyes softened, with what - affection? tenderness? - when he looked at her. He was totally not her type. She liked muscular eye candy. So why did her thoughts keep returning to him? She shook her head to clear it, blonde hair flying. In irritation, she grabbed the band from her wrist and quickly pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail.

Refocusing on her computer screen, she swore softly, coffee cup sloshing brown liquid over the edge as she dropped it carelessly onto her desk. James Willington. Bastard was no longer in New Jersey where he was reported to be last week, but had been seen in Pennsylvania. She slammed her hand on her desk. She knew they shouldn't have waited so long.

"Damn it!" Marshal Bruce Pelman, Mary's current temporary partner looked up warily at her outburst. He had just reached the three month mark of their partnership and had already decided he would need to talk to their boss about a transfer. He'd been warned about her. He'd laughed it off, certain he could handle one brash blonde. Looking for bragging rights to lord over the others who had tried, and failed, to partner her. Mary went through partners like most people went through toilet paper.

"James freakin' Willington is no longer in Jersey. He must have gotten wind of our op somehow." She stood up and viciously pushed her chair back. _Goddammit, we've been planning this for weeks, only two days from pulling the trigger. _The rolling chair went flying across the room, crashing into the wall with a satisfying thud. "I've been after that a-hole for six months. How is it he keeps eluding us?"

Mary stormed into Marshal Evan Nickel's office, Bruce trailing reluctantly behind her. Evan looked up from his paperwork and compressed his lips. Leaning back in his chair, he removed his glasses, and inspected the agitated woman in front of him. Mary Shannon was belligerent, aggressive, brash, single-minded. Some would say unfeeling, self-centered, a loner. Not really a team player. She didn't play well with others, she drove partners away with alarming regularity, she pissed off almost everyone she came into contact with. And she was also the single most effective member of his FTF team; delivering more fugitives than any other marshal. She cared. She cared deeply about getting these scumbags off the street, putting them away where they couldn't damage anyone else. She was so damaged herself, though, she kept everyone at arm's length. God help the man who ever broke through her wall of defenses.

"I want to go to Pennsylvania," she said gruffly after updating him on her fugitive's status, a pleading note underneath the sharp words. "Please, Evan, I've been after this guy for six months. Don't just hand the case over to Philly."

Evan templed his fingers in front of his face and watched the contortions on Bruce's face behind Mary. He nodded. "Mary goes, Bruce stays. You can team up with a marshal out of the Philly office. I want this guy, Mary. Bring him down." He watched in mingled satisfaction and apprehension as Mary turned on her heel and left his office without a word, Bruce slinking out behind her.

* * *

**Albuquerque, New Mexico**

**U.S. Marshals Service**

**Witness Security**

Inspector Marshall Mann watched his young witness with amusement. The dark haired girl oozed enthusiasm about every aspect of her life. She was currently telling Marshall about her dance classes at college. It was infectious really, her joy, her can do attitude. He thoroughly enjoyed his visits with her. He turned an impersonal eye on her dorm room, making a quick inspection for signs of anything amiss. Julie was one of his easy witnesses. Never had a day's trouble with her. His visits were purely routine. His eye fell on a poster of a piece of early American folk art. A flash of his dream from the previous night intruded on his thoughts.

It was odd, that dream. It had a realistic edge to it he had never experienced before. Smells, colors, sounds, emotions. They were all sharp and realistic. _Humpf._ The blonde woman in his dream was a polar opposite to his bubbly witness. But she had a directness that Marshall found appealing. This woman laid it on the line. Didn't worry about what anyone else thought.

_"What, exactly, is your beef with humanity?" Marshall had put the question to her. Her head tilted up to answer him._

_"I have no beef with humanity. It's people I can't stand." He was standing next to the blonde woman at an art gallery. She was spectacular in a simple black dress, her hair pulled back somewhat severely. Marshall wished she had let it fall loose. He had his arm in a sling. **Wonder what's up with that?** A tendril of warmth had shot through him at her greeting._

_"Look at you all upright and not dead.'" Presumably a reference to his injury. Sincerity underneath the sarcasm, and something else too. A touch of concern, or guilt maybe?_

Marshall frowned as he reviewed the dream again. The crash of the gallery opening by the mistress of the blonde woman's witness. The cat fight. The utter disdain with which the blonde woman addressed the male witness.

Marshall liked to interpret his dreams, look for clues about his life, his subconscious worries. This one had him stumped, though. It seemed to be related to work. There was a witness involved and the blonde woman seemed to be another marshal. Work was going well, though. No problems with any of his witnesses.

He was working without a partner at the moment, but Stan had promised he would be assigned someone soon. Marshall liked working with a regular partner. Besides the obvious safety issues, he liked having someone to interact with, to bounce ideas off. Marshall was a social creature, who lived a somewhat solitary life. He liked the simple act of having actual contact with another person. Part of the reason he chose WitSec as a career path was that contact with the witnesses. His last partner had retired and Stan, for reasons that remained murky to Marshall, was dragging his feet on assigning a new one.

He sighed. Maybe the dream wasn't about work but about the woman. A commentary on his social life. He dated, even had a girl who could loosely qualify as a girlfriend at the moment, but he was still looking for 'the one'. Time was passing and Marshall desperately wanted to find that person with whom he could spend his life, with whom he could share his hopes and dreams, with whom he could start a family.

He considered the woman in his dream again. He had never been particularly attracted to blondes before, but she was very attractive. Hell, she was smoking. And way out of his league. She wasn't likely to find his cerebral approach to life appealing. Or his string bean figure. He attracted his share of female attention, but not from women that looked like his dream girl. _Oh god, now I'm thinking of her as a real person._

Marshall reluctantly drug his fevered thoughts back to his witness and tried to concentrate on her chatter, finally making his escape with an excuse about having another witness to visit. He strolled through the campus towards the parking lot, trying to shake the tenacious aftermath of his dream, subconsciously rubbing at his right clavicle.


	2. Dream a Little Dream of Me

Chapter 2 - Dream a Little Dream of Me

Mary Shannon woke with a start, her breathing shallow and ragged. She looked around wildly, her hand reaching for the empty space beside her. She flailed in the darkness until her fingers closed around the bedside lamp and unsteadily turned it on. Staring at her empty bed, she turned her gaze to her room, gradually taking in the familiar surroundings; her clothes hanging in the tiny closet, her cluttered desk, the southwestern painting hanging on the wall.

Breathing returning to normal, she flopped back on her pillow, her hand over her heart. Frightened eyes focused on the painting in the pale morning light. Cacti, redstone bluffs in the distance, wide open space under a deep blue sky. It had come with the furnished apartment and she had never really paid much attention before. Art wasn't her thing. Concentrating on the large painting now helped steady her rapid breathing. The image of unending vistas, blazing skies; freedom. It was mesmerizing somehow. _Cacti_. Weird word. Her fevered mind chased after the stray thought a moment, wondering how the plural of cactus came to be cacti.

Her thoughts returned to the dream that had woken her and a frown crossed her face. Her dream had once again featured the tall, slender stranger. Circumstances had changed, but it was the same man. The man who towered over her, whose intense blue eyes focused on her, who she instinctively knew was law enforcement. Everything about his bearing screamed 'I am a lawman'. He wore it proudly.

Mary calmed down and cast her mind back, trying to recall if she had ever actually met the man in her dreams. No, she would remember those eyes, the slender build. The intensity of this dream caused her to shudder. She could actually taste the fear in her mouth, feel the burn in her arms.

_She had been held in a dank basement, chained to a post, threatened with death, threatened with rape. She had witnessed the shooting of another man, who looked alarmingly like Brandi's worthless boyfriend. After managing to break free of her chains and shooting one of her tormentors, she waited with a shovel at the ready in her cuffed hands as footsteps sounded on the stairs. She swung at the first short, bald man who appeared, missing as he ducked and then the tall, thin man appeared. She stared at him before dropping the shovel and collapsing into his embrace. Adrenaline surged, then dropped off a cliff. She felt nauseous, her legs trembled, she felt she may pass out._

_"It's all right." His arms went around her ." Whoa. All Right." She never wanted him to let her go. Her wrists were still cuffed and she felt her legs start to give way. His arms felt good around her; safe, secure, loving. This man would protect her, he wouldn't let anyone else hurt her._

_Later the man had driven her home, looking at her with worried eyes. He had walked with her into her house, his hand lightly holding her elbow. He had cleared a path past her hovering mother and sister, depositing Mary in a bedroom, leaning over to place a gentle kiss on her forehead and a squeeze on her shoulder. She felt a sense of loss when the lanky man with the big belt buckle walked out the door. She knew he was leaving to find the person who had done this to her; she wanted him to stay._

Mary tried to clear her mind of the puzzling dream as she drove to work. A busy day was ahead for her. The Jersey FTF office was coordinating with the Pennsylvania branch on a raid. Mary had been tracking this fugitive for six months and they finally had reliable intel on his whereabouts.

She pulled into a parking space, next to that asshole Pelman and his shiny new Porsche. How he could afford that on a marshal's salary was beyond her. He always parked just slightly over the line so no one would park in the space next to him. Mary smirked and pulled in, making sure he wouldn't be able to open his door. She couldn't care less if he dinged her Probe in his attempt to get in his car. The little buttjack was always cutting out early and Mary knew he would leave before she did. Attempt to leave she thought, as she viewed the slender space between their cars.

Entering the office, she heard the familiar hum of a dozen different conversations taking place. She stopped briefly by her desk to deposit her jacket and grab her coffee cup, then made her way back to the conference room. Pelman and Nickels were already assembled there, along with two marshals from the Philly branch. Gravitating back to the credenza where the coffeepot was set, she filled her mug and snagged a chair.

"Okay people," Nickels began, handing out briefs after quick introductions were made, "this is the latest information we have on Willington. He left Newark on Tuesday, as near as we can ascertain. He has been spotted in Philly and appears to be holing up in a motel with a shady acquaintance. Surveillance has had him there since yesterday. Schwartz and Ferris here have provided all the information they have gathered. Mary, you will be heading to Philadelphia tomorrow." Mary nodded, her eyes scanning the brief, taking in the information, reading between the lines for the things that weren't said.

Schwartz chimed in. "If the fugitive doesn't change location, the take down is planned for day after tomorrow. Mary, we understand you will be the lead on this. Just tell me what you need." Mary ventured a quick glance at the balding agent, something familiar tickling at the back of her mind that she couldn't quite grasp. She nodded her thanks and shook her head to clear it.

Leaning back in her chair she studied the two men who would be teaming with her. Gerry Schwartz was short with a rapidly receding hairline. His rolled up sleeves exposed powerful forearms and his quick brown eyes didn't miss much. Pete Ferris was tall with a thickening waistline. He must not spend much time out in the field. Mary guessed he was the intel provider.

Evan Nickels left the three marshals together to plan strategy, drawing a reluctant Bruce Pelman out of the conference room with him. Mary would work better with the fewest number of people possible in the small room. They spent the next several hours formulating their plan, designing contingencies for every possible scenario. Mary felt fairly comfortable by the time they wrapped up. She would be able to work with Schwartz and she had been promised his best people. She would meet up with them in Philly in the morning.

A grim smile crossed her lips. She would have that rat bastard soon.

* * *

U.S. Marshal Marshall Mann jolted awake, his body thrumming in response to the vivid dream. He reached over and switched on his bedside lamp, flopping back down and staring at the painting on his wall with the southwestern theme. Cacti, redstone bluffs, sand, crystal blue sky. It was one of his favorites. The wide open spaces appealed to him. He concentrated on the painting as his breathing slowed.

_The tall blonde had pulled him into the horse stall, her weapon strategically stashed in the holster around her thigh. The tight fitting dress showed off her cleavage quite nicely and he had been staring when she told him to follow her lead. He would have followed her into paradise as she pulled his shirt free of his pants, mussed up his hair, grabbed his head and started kissing him, albeit in a somewhat sloppy fashion. He could deal with that though, as he brought his hands up to her face to steady her and kissed back._

_"What the hell... What the hell are you doing?" She hissed at him as she shoved him back and gave him the WTF look._

_"What the hell are you doing?" He responded in confusion, his lips already missing the contact with hers._

_"Just follow my lead!" She glared at him, then started to leave the stall._

_"I thought I was!" Confusion vied with want in his addled brain._

Marshall carefully reviewed the dream, looking for clues. It had felt terribly real. His body had believed it real. He could feel her lips on his, could feel the curves of her body pressed against the angular lines of his. She had been so soft, so pliant. He committed the woman's features to memory, although sure he had never met her. Long blonde hair, green eyes, full breasts, nice legs. What they were doing in a horse stall, he had no idea.

He rubbed a hand across his face. These dreams were becoming regular. Circumstances changed, but always the same woman. What could be the meaning of them? Marshall was reasonably sure the woman was not someone he had met in real life. He would have remembered her.

Sighing, he brought his attention back to the painting on the bedroom wall. It was hung where it would be the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. He had bought it on a whim and it was a purchase he had never regretted, appreciating the implicit message of freedom it conveyed.

Marshall threw back the covers and got up, taking a critical look at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. _Time is marching on Mann. And what do you have to show for it?_ He had to be careful or he would slide into melancholia. It was hard though, to objectively evaluate his life. He had a job he loved, a job he excelled at. Although filled with classes and projects, his personal life, though, felt bland, empty. His younger brothers were both married; had half-grown children. They had a steadiness to them that was directly attributable to their families. The eldest Mann wanted that anchor badly. Wanted that person who would bring some true meaning to his life.

Marshall's distraction carried over to the office. Stan noticed his inspector's preoccupation, but said nothing. Perhaps it was time to assign another partner. Stan had been quietly reviewing personnel files for other inspectors, looking for potential fits. Marshall was so laid back, he needed someone with a bit more fire to balance him. There were a number of problems with people with fire though. Many were on a career climbing ladder and Stan was not going to have anyone stepping on Marshall on their way out of the Albuquerque office. And career climbers sometimes didn't care enough about their witnesses. As Stan saw it, Marshall would eventually have his job, assuming he didn't transfer to another office. The chief had recently expanded his search to include marshals outside of Witness Protection. He had three files on his desk to mull over for a second time. Three vastly different, but potentially good fits for his most sensitive inspector.

Marshall checked his calendar and noted his witness visits he had scheduled for the day. He headed out to visit Marlie Winston with a heavy heart. Marlie made him sad. She had experienced so much loss prior to entering the program, losing her husband and granddaughter to gang violence. And she experienced more loss upon entry into the program as her son, two daughters and five other grandchildren were denied her. She was a ghostly shell of a woman, quietly waiting to die. There were some people Marshall reflected, for whom WitSec was not the answer.

Plastering a bright smile on his face, Marshall greeted Mrs. Winston, accepted her whispered invitation to come in and sat down at her kitchen table, cradling a cup of coffee. Her answers to his questions were always the same, they never varied. Marshall had tried, he really had over the years, to get some spark of life in her, to get her interested in something, anything. He had actually talked to Stan about opting her out of the program so she could go back to her family. Stan had been appalled, Marshall chastened. He backed off, but privately felt his witness was just waiting for death anyway. She may as well be with her family and happy.

At the end of their visit, Marshall rose to go and was startled when Marlie laid her hand on his. He stared at her chocolate brown fingers smoothing over his bare ring finger.

"You're such a nice boy. Why aren't you married, Marshall?" Her tired eyes looked at him with her ever present sadness, magnified by her round glasses.

"Still looking for the right girl I guess," he said with a nervous chuckle, suppressing the comment about Marlie sounding like his mother. He was afraid that might be hurtful to her.

"You hold out for that girl. You'll find her." She dropped his hand and slowly shuffled over to the kitchen sink, carrying their coffee cups, Marshall's stare on her back. "And she'll be a lucky girl."


	3. Only in My Dreams

Chapter 3 - Only in My Dreams

The snow covered fields of Pennsylvania flew by, the pale cold light of early morning doing little to impart any warmth. Thin wisps of rose colored clouds greeted her glances into the rear view mirror. Ahead of her the sky was still smoky blue, the western horizon yet to be touched by dawn. Mary stifled a yawn, wishing briefly she had someone with whom she could share this drive. Raising her cup of coffee to her lips, she took a sip and reached over to turn up the heat a notch. Her Probe's heater had seen better days, but she stubbornly refused to spend the money to get it fixed.

The soft buzz of her phone intruded on her thoughts. Mary checked the number on her incoming call and sighed. Brandi. She ignored it, not having the willpower to listen to her sister's latest drama right now. Grunting, she jotted a quick reminder on her notepad to tell Brandi to ditch her loser boyfriend. She would have that conversation later, after she had a chance to do some investigation on him. Dig up a few priors that she felt sure were out there to bolster her case. Mary pressed end and returned to contemplating the most recent dream she had had that featured the tall man. Mary believed now that in her dreams, this man was her partner. They were still marshals, the distinctive star visible on her waist, but she didn't think they were in the FTF.

_They were flying down the highway in a GMC, the tall man riding shotgun and an annoying man in the backseat. Tension filled the air of the vehicle, irritation thick and annoyance close to the surface. They appeared to have been arguing. Some kind of warning light lit up on the dashboard and Mary pulled the truck off the main road. The tall man got out and was looking under the hood. She was definitely angry at him. Hurt, betrayal, fear all roiled inside her. The man in the back seat wouldn't shut up. Suddenly another car pulled up behind them and shots rang out. The tall man walked around from behind the hood of the car and was shot. He collapsed on the ground while Mary backed the truck up putting it between the man and the shooters. _

Mary frowned as she picked apart the dream. Her level of anxiety ratcheted up as the dream progressed. From checking on the prone man after he had saved her life by shooting one of their attackers, to trying to find a place to hide from their pursuers, to the fear that his injury might be life threatening.

_They found shelter in an abandoned diner. Mr. Annoying was chained to the counter and the tall man collapsed onto a dusty sofa. They were having an intense conversation. Fear laced sweat dampened both their shirts, the heat oppressive. Drawing a clean breath was difficult; worry, anguish, deep seated concern conspiring to constrict airways. The injured man turned his blue eyes on her, carefully framed words directed towards her in reluctant tones._

"_I feel like I'm the keeper of this exotic animal. And I spend my time either protecting you from the world, or the world from you. And it's just... It's just a lot of responsibility." She had been forced to push to get him to talk. She ran her hand tenderly over his jaw, then pulled his face down to place a kiss on his cheek. His eyes closed in...what? Pain, joy, frustration? Mary couldn't tell. _

"_I'm sorry. But that's your job. And you cannot quit." She looked at him, willing him to acquiesce. He couldn't quit. He couldn't. She would fall apart. He stared at her, his eyes fathomless depths she couldn't decipher. _

"_Okay." There was a slight hint of resignation in his voice. She had made him promise he wouldn't leave. She couldn't lose him. _

Mary frowned. The man was obviously very important to her, but she didn't get the feeling they were lovers. The level of turmoil she felt in her dream made her uneasy. She didn't get that close to anyone, to feel that much emotion. Not since she was seven years old.

She focused on the road, relieved to see that Philly was only another fifteen miles. The Jersey marshal was scheduled to meet with Schwartz and Ferris. She couldn't allow any distractions from the task at hand.

Mary arrived in good time and was quickly shown into the conference room, meeting the additional members of the task force. She quickly evaluated the three men she didn't know, deciding they would be competent, if not outstanding. She so rarely got outstanding, she thought with a mental grumble. The best she hoped for most days was to have someone capable of covering her back. Something she didn't feel confident about with Pelman. Her thoughts turned dark as she considered her reluctant partner. What kind of partner doesn't even half-heartedly offer to go on a take down with his partner? She knew an assignment with Marshal Shannon was a difficult job, but good grief, he was supposed to have her back. Mary grimaced as she thought about the paperwork involved with her impending request to Evan to assign her a new partner.

The identity of the shady acquaintance in the motel had been discovered, one Greg Yanovic. Small time local petty thief. Mary snorted. Yanovic had no idea with whom he was tangling when he took up with Willington. Ripping off convenience stores and dry cleaners was in a whole different league from the bank robberies Willington engaged in. The motel was under 24 hour surveillance. There had been little movement in and out of the room. Plans were finalized, partners assigned, coordination with local law enforcement arranged. Mary couldn't think of a possibility that wasn't outlined in the final plan.

After setting the gear up time for 6:30 the next morning, Mary returned to her motel room, amped up and looking for an outlet for her excess energy. She showered and contemplated going to one of the many bars located on the same street as the motel. Find someone to chat up. Maybe do a little more than chat. She sat down on the bed, combing out her long blonde hair, feeling nervous and horny. A quick roll in the hay would take the edge off the tightness she felt in her gut. She was far more apprehensive about the next day's raid than was usual.

Mary stood up to grab her keys and found her attention held by the framed artwork over the bed. Odd, she hadn't noticed it before. It was another southwestern piece. Unexpectedly a flash of her dream the previous night raced across her minds eye. She saw the dusty landscape, the lonely road, the redstone hills, the deserted diner. Felt the sweltering heat, the sweat rolling down her face, the damp tank top clinging to her clammy skin. Peered into the strained face of the slender man who had been injured. Felt the connection. And knew. She knew he wouldn't like it if she found herself a cowboy. It would hurt him. The keys clattered back onto the desk. Clear blue eyes gazed into her soul and calmly asked her not to hurt him.

The TV was flipped on and a can of pop opened. Mary sat against the headboard, remote in hand, finally settling on The History Channel. Her fingers gently rubbed at her temple, trying to soothe away the hint of an oncoming headache. _I think I need help. A figment of my imagination is now dictating my social life. And I don't want to hurt the figment._

* * *

Marshall distractedly drug his attention back to Beth, his sometime girlfriend. They had known each other for several years and shared many interests. They were comfortable with each other, but Marshall knew she wasn't the one. Beth was under no illusions about him either. They were...convenient for each other. An acceptable fill in until someone more permanent arrived on the scene.

She was looking at him curiously. It was clear his thoughts were elsewhere. Beth was used to a certain amount of secretiveness with Marshall that related to his job. She knew not to ask questions. But lately, he was distracted, his attention never fully focused on her. Even when they made love last night, it was different. Marshall didn't look at her, he looked through her somehow, as though searching for someone else. She found it mildly disturbing. Marshall had always been a thoughtful, considerate lover. He gave her his full attention. Last night though, it was almost as though he was pretending; pretending she was someone else.

Marshall felt guilty. His nightly dreams were something to which he now looked forward. The willowy blonde with the green eyes was becoming real to him. The dream last night...he sighed.

_They were standing outside the office on the balcony. The blonde was terribly upset. Marshall was trying to talk to her, to get her to understand something. She was resisting. _

"_Have you ever tried to find him?" The question was cautious. He was wading into dangerous waters._

"_No." She shook her head, unable or unwilling to look him in the face._

"_Why not? You have at your disposal the best technology in the world to track down anyone. And I have to believe that subconsciously, or consciously, that's at least part of the reason you became a marshal. Are you afraid of what you might find?" Tentative words tracking carefully through the minefield of hurt and betrayal she had experienced._

"_If he wanted me to know where he was, he would tell me." Defiant._

"_And what about what you want? At some point, that has to matter, too. If your father's still alive, if he's still out there somewhere..." His vocal cords were tense, his pain for the agitated blonde was audible in his words. He felt her distress as a palpable thing; cloying, suffocating, like a sea of caramel that he tried to swim through in order to reach her, fighting all the way to not get sucked down._

"_What?" The single word was choked out. He could tell tears were very close._

"_I just can't believe he would want his daughter to suffer the way you're suffering." Her shoulders started to shake and her head dipped down. He hesitated briefly before moving to her and enveloping her sobbing form in his arms, pressing a light kiss to her hair as he held her. Her arms came around his waist. Marshall delighted in having her in his arms while agonizing over her pain._

"Hey." Beth snapped her fingers in front of Marshall's face. "Where'd you go?" The question was curious, but not angry. Marshall smiled an apology and murmured something about work distractions. Beth leveled an assessing look at him, then shrugged, accepting his statement. They both knew she wasn't getting the full truth. Clearing their breakfast dishes, she dropped a kiss on his cheek and gathered her purse and jacket.

"I'm off to work," she said. "Call me later?" There was an uncertainty in her voice that was new. Marshall squeezed her hand and nodded. Listening to the front door close after Beth's departing body, he moved to the couch and sank down, allowing his head to roll back on the cushions. He was going to have to do something about his relationship with Beth. He was just hurting them both at this point.

Pushing that contemplation off to a later time, Marshall sat up to pull on his boots, then collected badge, gun and wallet and left for work. Today was paperwork catch up. He had been out on a prisoner transport earlier in the week and had been neglectful of his visit write-ups for the day previous to the transport.

Arriving at the Sunshine Building and settling in at this desk, the lanky inspector gazed glumly at the empty desk across from his. It has previously been occupied by his former partner, Wendell Millipat. Wendell was four months into retirement in Santa Fe now. And Marshall was still on his own. He felt aimlessly adrift. Without an anchor in his personal life, he had long looked to his work life to provide social stability. His partners played a large part in his life, kept him connected. Made him feel not so alone. He was feeling very alone right now. He would need to speak to Stan again.

He glanced over the briefs sent each day on major Marshal Service activities across the country. His eye was caught by an operation gone bad during an FTF raid in Pennsylvania. Chuckling, he was glad he wasn't involved, as he skimmed through the report. No injuries, but no fugitive either. The lead on that one would have some 'splaining to do.


	4. Shattered Dreams

Chapter 4 - Shattered Dreams

Mary staggered into her hotel room and dropped onto the bed, exhaustion seeping from every pore. The planned raid on Willington's motel room had turned into a clusterfuck and once again the little rat bastard had eluded her. He was becoming an obsession. Her need to catch him was tied up in a personal matter of pride and worth. Her eyes roved around the drab room with its neutral colors. God, she could use some cowboy about now, but was far too tired to go rustle one up. Plus there was the figment to consider.

Her eyes closed and she replayed the scene from earlier, the stake out of the motel, busting down the door, Willington standing there by the bathroom door. Right there. Surprise clear on his face. And then a lazy, smug grin crossed his face as he took in the two US Marshals leveling guns at him, the additional backup visible behind them. That grin. Mary took it as a personal slap in the face, a taunt, a mocking of her abilities.

A long shuddering groan escaped her. She was lead on this raid. The Philly office had extended her that courtesy since she had been after the asshole for so long. As her prey stood there so calmly contemplating the assorted firepower aimed at him, Mary started to feel slightly unnerved. He wasn't moving. The barked command to raise his arms was ignored. The infuriating half-smile continued to play across his lips.

And then he shrugged, started to raise his hands, turned slightly and then...Mary rolled over, squeezing her eyes shut even tighter. It all happened so fast. Blur of movement and a burst of smoke filled the room. Mary was moving towards Willington through the thick fog before the others even started coughing. She reached out blindly, grabbing a wrist that was easily wrenched free and then he was gone. By the time the room had cleared enough to see, the open window in the bathroom gave stark testimony to the location of their fugitive.

Her tired body insisted on rest and she reluctantly gave in, her breathing evening out.

_The tall man reacted viscerally to her comment about needing to do some cowboy. He unfolded his lanky limbs from his desk and walked over, bracing his hands on the desk, getting in her face. _

"_You've done the cowboy. And when you weren't doing the cowboy you were the cowboy… like with Raph. You don't need to let off steam; what you need is –" He paused and took a breath. "I get that… you don't like… messy. But maybe messy is what you need. Maybe instead of just anyone… you should be looking for… someone. Someone who challenges you. Who calls you on your BS, 'n gets in your face,'n makes you think….What?"_

_She was staring at him. "What? I'm thinking." Her heart was pounding, trying to take in what he was implying. By 'someone' did he mean himself? All those statements he just made, they could apply to him. He challenged her. He called her on her BS. He got in her face, like he was doing now. He made her think..._

_Her heartbeat ratcheted up and her fight or flee response kicked in and she fled._

Mary woke with a gasp, her heart pounding. The tall man had come close to making a declaration to her. Mary sat up, placing her surroundings, reaching beside her, feeling an immense sense of relief as her hand encountered emptiness and not another body beside her. She flopped back down, trying to understand the sharp feeling of loss that was enveloping her.

She rubbed at her temples. Maybe she needed to talk to someone. She was beginning to believe she was falling in love with this imaginary dream man who didn't even have a name. This figment. Turning to look at the bedside clock, she grimaced. Six o'clock. May as well get up. They would need to start over today and find out where the hell Willington had gone this time.

* * *

The Philly team gathered in the conference room, a pervasive pall of gloom hanging over the five people seated at the large table. Mary watched sourly as Marshal Paul-Jean Micheaux gestured to get their attention and braced his arms against the table, surveying the accumulated styrofoam coffee cups, remnants of danish and notebooks. She had already delivered a terse recap of the previous days events, outlining each step of the op and giving her assessment of what had gone wrong.

"Okay folks," Micheaux said, the faint Quebecois accent giving a lilt to his words. "Yesterday was a disappointment, to put it mildly. Our fugitive, Monsieur Willington, has eluded us once again and appears to have picked up some new tricks. We have so far been unable to locate Mr. Yanovic. However, we have obtained some new information about our Mr. Houdini overnight. Seems he has a, uh, lady friend. One who is willing to talk if we can make a minor possession charge go away. After a quickie at her place, Willington intimated that he was leaving town, heading south, likely to Kentucky."

Mary listened without looking up. Kentucky. Great. She really wanted to go home and instead she was heading to...Kentucky. Home of horses and mint juleps and big hats. But if that is where that fucknut was, that is where she was going to be also.

"Do we have this narrowed down a bit," she asked wearily. "Kentucky is a big state."

Micheaux regarded her evenly, dismissing the rest of the team, while holding up a hand to detain her. Schwartz caught her eye as he walked out, a sympathetic smile on his face. She scowled back at him in return.

"Mary," Micheaux's accent almost caressed the word and Mary glanced down quickly at his left hand. Ring. Must just be the way those damn French talked. Her mind wandered briefly to the semester of Jacques in college. Jacques from Lyon. Jacques who was so skilled in so many ways. She abruptly brought her attention back as Paul-Jean snapped his fingers under her nose. "I need you here, with me," he said. "Move on from blaming yourself. No one could have reasonably foreseen the smoke bomb. Your man Willington always has a contingency plan in place. You," he wagged his finger at her, "you must crawl in his head and think like him."

The blonde snorted. "I'll drown in the muck if I crawl in his head. I'm not a profiler. What I'm good at is chasing people."

Paul-Jean was silent a moment, reviewing his conversation with Evan Nickels regarding the belligerent woman standing in front of him. His lips tightened. "Mary," not so much of a caress this time, "most law enforcement looks to the past, to where people have been. Marshals look to the future, to where people are going. Don't just chase Marshal Shannon. Look to the future. Get yourself to his destination before your fugitive does." He turned on his heel and left the shocked woman standing by herself in the empty room.

_

* * *

_

Marshall listened to Mrs. Seely with less than his usual full attention. She always prattled on about her grandchildren, her garden and her quilt making circle. He usually had endless patience for her. She was a sweet old lady who had been in the program for twenty-five years. Marshall's visits were perfunctory. He made his escape as quickly as was decently possible and returned to the office so he could quickly fill out the visitation form and clock out for the day.

Stopping to pick up Indian take out, Marshall headed home, glad to have the evening to himself. He was beginning to look forward to his nights, in a way he hadn't before. This was not the normal relief that the work day was done and he would have some time to himself. This was not wanting to spend time on his various hobbies. This was not wishing to flop in front of the TV with a beer and watch old Star Trek episodes. This was anticipating the dream he would have that night. Wondering what _she_ would do, what taunts she would fling his way, if she would touch him.

Marshall uncomfortably shied away from the nagging thought that his behavior wasn't healthy. He had a real life girlfriend of a sort. One from whom he was distancing himself. All because of a dream girl. He would rather sleep by himself and dream of his blonde than have Beth next to him, ready and willing.

Marshall braced his elbows on his knees and held his head. What was wrong with him? This girl didn't exist. No matter how real she seemed in his dreams. He had actually done some surreptitious searches in the databases at work to see if by any off chance, someone in Albuquerque law enforcement matched her description. Of course he had come up empty.

He flipped the TV on and stretched out on the sofa, the remains of his dinner on the coffee table and his beer bottle resting on his belly. Drifting off to the muted sound of David Letterman, his receptive mind once again welcomed the mystery woman.

_She had broken his heart. He could physically feel it cracking when he reached across the laminated table top of the diner to grasp her hand, holding it in a firm grasp that precluded escape, staring at the faint tan line of her ring finger, then staring at her face, shock leaving him immobile for a moment._

"_Why is there a tan line on your finger?" Voice hoarse, stunned. The meaning of that line taunting him, torturing him._

"_What? Where? I don't see anything. You're crazy." She wasn't looking at him, her eyes averted, clearly uncomfortable._

"_Right there. Fourth finger, left hand. Like from a ring. But you don't wear rings". Slightly accusatory._

"_Let go. Fine. It's from a ring. An engagement ring. Raph and I are engaged. There, I said it. You happy?"_

_She seemed embarrassed. When she finally admitted she was engaged, she only showed him the ring with great reluctance. He had put the ring on his own finger, more to cover an awkward moment than for any other reason. As soon as it slipped over his knuckle, he knew it wouldn't easily come back off. This was just great. He was wearing her symbol of commitment to another man. At her almost shy question 'so aren't you going to congratulate me', he stood up and enfolded her in his arms, unable to enjoy the moment because all the hope had gone out of his soul._

Marshall woke to an infomercial and tears rolling down his cheeks. The pain he felt was visceral, real. He sat up, wiping his cheeks and turned off the TV. Maybe he needed to talk to someone. He made his way down the hall to his bedroom. The depression he felt from the dream was going to carry over. He could feel it. This was not normal. He was upset that a woman who didn't exist was going to marry a man that didn't exist and he was left out in the cold.

He brushed his teeth, reflecting that even in his dreams the girl he wanted didn't pan out. Brief thoughts of Liliana distracted him. He had hopelessly longed for her through three years of college. She announced her engagement on graduation day. He had been crushed. More so because he had no idea her relationship with that piece of football playing beefcake was anything serious. And she hadn't told him. They were friends and she hadn't told him. He never spoke to her again. His heart became more guarded after that, less trusting.


	5. Talkin' in Your Sleep

Chapter 5 - Talkin' in Your Sleep

Mary took in her surroundings with a dour eye, her head throbbing. All the anger and frustration was spent and she was left with a shell; skin and flesh holding the withered remnants of her soul. Really, what point did her life have, she wondered. Catching bad guys was a good thing. She was a valuable asset to the Marshals Service; she knew this. But her job could be performed by any number of others. Besides, didn't seem like she could capture the one person she had been after for so long. She sank down on the bed, staring vacantly at the blank TV screen.

What was the point of her specific life? There had to be more than searching for her mother from bar to bar and bailing her sister out of jail. She had no family of her own, no husband, no children. Not that she wanted those things. There wasn't even a boyfriend. No girlfriends either. No friends of any description. There was the occasional cowboy and a string of partners she chased off in a few months time. No one at work particularly wanted to be around her. She was gruff and prickly and rude. She carried 'fuck off' signs on her back. And no one knew. No one knew she yearned for some kind of human connection. No one knew that she had a deep well of compassion that was kept effectively hidden because she viewed it as a weakness. No one knew she viewed some of her fugitives with sympathy because she could easily envision members of her family in their shoes, given the right circumstances.

At the unwelcome prick of tears behind her eyes, Mary pressed the heels of her hands against her closed eyelids and tried to contain the salty drops before her shoulders started to quiver and the sobs came. That rotten little bag of fucknuts had eluded her again. She had him in her sights and he disappeared. This was becoming personal. A battle of wills and intelligence and street smarts between Willington and herself. How? How did he know when they were close to him? He was always just that one step ahead, with a meticulously planned escape route.

This time they found him in a Lexington coffee shop that he had been frequenting every morning between 7:15 and 7:45 am. They were waiting for him as he entered the shop. Marshals surrounded the outside of the shop. Mary and four other marshals were seated in the shop, coffee cups on the counter in front of them, eyes watchful. Willington entered at 7:18 am, purchased his double mocha latte and casually glanced around the room, sauntering towards a small table placed by the door into the kitchen. Mary stood up from her place in the corner and signaled to the other team members.

She flopped back on the bed and the memory played through her head. He smiled at her. A knowing, condescending, superior smile. Then the fucker ducked into the kitchen and was locked in the employee bathroom . Of course in the five seconds it took to kick the door open, their prey was out the window and gone. None of the outside agents had seen him. It was a complete mystery where he had gone. Much later, it was discovered he probably had hidden in a trash dumpster immediately after crawling out of the window, and somehow got away during the general confusion that ensued.

This was all starting to reflect poorly on her.

Mary pulled the covers down and crawled into bed fully clothed. Her weariness went beyond physical tiredness. It sunk into her very bones. She just wanted to close her eyes and not wake up.

_They were flying down a lonely stretch of road through the desert. The tall man was throwing concerned looks at her._

"_Normally, what I'd do now is call El Paso PD."_

"W_hat!" She glared at him incredulously._

_He continued without missing a beat, "giving you the chance to vent with spectacular venom on the eager incompetence of the local constabulary, moving you into the state that I call post rant relief." He gave her a look she couldn't define._

"_But I sense emotionally, you may be outside the bounds of normal play, so I'm gonna call a quick time out. Everything okay with you?" Again with the look. _

"_Beside a witness who.." Once again he cut her off. Eyes kept firmly straight ahead on the road._

"_I mean, is everything okay. With you." The measured words. The tone. Another quick glance at her, searching_

"_Oh. Things with Raph are good. Really good." She looked at him obliquely. His stony gaze focused straight ahead as she spoke._

"_So." A sigh escaped her._

"_So." He mirrored her word._

"_So, I should be happier about that."_

"_And what are you?"_

"_Scared, pissed, guilty. And happy. Happy's in there." She focused on her hands._

"_Somewhere."_

"_Happy's under a bit of a pile." A grudging admittance._

"_How come?"_

"_I think I want something that just doesn't exist. I want something that's just right, without argument or doubt, which is insane because there's always argument, there's always doubt. So I guess what I'm after here is the insane goal of an insane person." She stared out the window at the passing desert, unable to meet his eyes._

"_I would say it's the ideal goal of someone who has somehow managed to protect the purest part of her heart, which does not seem insane to anyone who really knows you." Carefully chosen words accompanied by quick glances. _

"_Which would be you ...and you." She looked at him and gave a humorless smile._

Mary rolled over and stared up at the ceiling. He understood her. The tall man. Nobody in her life understood her. But he did. He understood the person she presented to the world and he understood the insecure girl hiding behind the facade. He got how important it was that she protect her heart. Is that what these dreams were about? Desperately wanting somebody who got her? And who the hell was Raph?

* * *

Marshall shut down his computer and cleared his desk, looking around the empty office. It was not unusual for him to work late, but it was unusual for him to feel sad, to feel empty. Loneliness was a faint accompaniment to his adult life, but something he was normally able to keep at bay. He had friends, he had many interests that he pursued, he had Beth, sort of. Sighing heavily, he faced the stark reality that he didn't have that one person who fit him, who complemented him. Adimpleate. His brain supplied the obscure word. _To fill up_. He needed that person who could adimpleate him. That person with whom he could make a life, with whom he could start a family. That person he could love.

Walking into his silent home, Marshall flipped on the lights and set his briefcase down on the kitchen table. Melancholia had its grip on him. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and sank down into his recliner. Unbidden, the early morning conversation with Beth replayed itself in his mind.

"_So, who's Mary?" Beth had rolled over and looked at him, an expression he couldn't read on her face. She was watching him steadily, the sheet slipping down her lithe form, revealing satin smooth skin. Marshall looked at her in puzzlement "Mary? I don't know any Mary." He returned her gaze, eyes wandering down the curves of her body._

_Beth shrugged. "You kept saying her name last night. Seemed pretty upset." Marshall closed his eyes. The dream the previous night had been intense, frightening. The woman – Mary?- had been badly injured, shot in the line of duty. Marshall had rushed to the hospital._

_ "Gunshot wound to the abdomen approximately eight minutes ago. Lost consciousness immediately. We lost her pulse roughly two minutes ago..." The hospital personnel were rushing her gurney down the corridor, Marshall running to catch up to them, heart pounding, fear almost overwhelming him._

_ "Oh, Jesus. Mary, listen to me. You need to hang around for a while. It's not time to go, yet. Okay? We're going to fix you up. But it might take some time." He bent down to place a kiss on her temple, wanting to pour out his love for her, but unable to get words past the constriction in his throat. This could not be happening._

_ "Hey, Bronstein? Clear Trauma Three. I'm sorry, sir. You have to wait outside." They took her inside the ER, Marshall firmly pushed outside by a nurse. Separated. This was wrong. He belonged with her. The enormity of the situation hit him and as sobs wracked his body, he sank to the floor as Stan came running around the corner._

_ "Marshall! Marshall." Panic clear in his voice._

_ "She wasn't breathing, Stan." Marshall completely broke down, his fear, love, grief, despair pouring out of him, Stan helplessly putting an arm around him._

_Marshall looked at Beth and gently cupped her cheek. "I don't know anyone named Mary." Beth looked back at him steadily. Odd how much it hurt to think he may be thinking of another woman. She was under no delusions regarding their relationship, but she liked Marshall. She knew him well enough to know that even though they hadn't agreed to an exclusive relationship, he wouldn't see another woman while he was intimate with her. It was just the kind of man he was. _

"_I don't know any Marys," he reiterated. He rolled over onto his back, a frown crossing his face. "Have you ever had a recurring dream? Or more accurately had a recurring person run through your dreams?" He looked at her hopefully. Wanting her to tell him what he was experiencing was normal._

_Beth thought a moment, before shaking her head. "Recurring dreams as a kid, you know, scary stuff, monsters and such. But not a recurring person. Are you having these dreams?" She propped her head up on her hand. Marshall hesitated a moment, but he wanted to share this with someone and he trusted Beth. _

"_I have been having dreams with the same woman in them. Maybe her name is Mary. I don't know. She's not anyone I've ever actually met. But it is always the same woman. The dreams are very real. I think she is, no she's definitely law enforcement. And she is tough as nails, fierce, but compassionate. I don't know why I'm dreaming about her. She's not real."_

_Beth covered his hand with hers, sadness in her eyes. "You must care for this dream woman very much. Tears were running down your face." She smiled tremulously. "We don't have a future together, Marshall. We are just helping each other cope with loneliness. I think it's time for both of us to move on. These dreams of yours are pointing out something that is missing from your life." _

He had stared at her, startled. Her thoughts mirrored his own. He trailed gentle fingers down her face, whispering his regrets. Beth shook her head and kissed him, insisting no one was at fault. They had made love one last time, Marshall easily sliding in and out of her yielding body. Marshall felt her absence tonight, but didn't really miss her. Once again his restive mind returned to the mystery woman in his dreams.

He didn't know why certain things were so clear in his dreams while others were not, like the name of the woman. He was becoming increasingly curious to know who she was, even if just in the context of his dreams. He was still not clear on her relationship to himself, but was beginning to suspect she was his partner. And whether it was her name or not, he was thinking of her as Mary now. Strange, that he never seemed to address her by name.

Marshall tried to clear his head by working on a long term project. A massive jigsaw puzzle of the Crab Nebula. He had the pieces spread out on his dining room table. It helped him to concentrate on a task like this, looking for the shapes of the puzzle that would fit together. As his eyes searched for the similarities in shapes, the repeating patterns, he thought about the update he had read at the office on the search for a fugitive named Willington. He was leading the Marshals Service on a merry chase that started in New Jersey, moved to Philadelphia and ended in a clusterfuck in Lexington, Kentucky today. He felt a twinge of sympathy for the team chasing this guy. They must be frustrated as hell. Guy always seemed to pull an escape out of his hat.

Marshall stilled, puzzle piece in hand, as he wondered if the fugitive was being fed information from inside. To escape so many times from planned raids was highly unusual. The Service was extremely good at what it did. Making a mental note to look a little further into the case, he returned to his task, satisfied to see a curve of the Nebula now laid out before him.


	6. Dreams are My Reality

Chapter 6 – Dreams are My Reality

Mary listened attentively as Evan Nickels delivered the latest fugitive update on James Willington via speakerphone. They had received reasonably reliable information that he was headed to the southwest. Rat bastard must have girls stashed in every part of the country. At least they were talkative girls. A confirmed knocking of the boots had taken place in Wichita Falls, Texas. He was being tracked west on I-40. Mary's gut feel was his likely destination was Albuquerque. Mary, Schwartz from Philadelphia and a marshal from Lexington would be flying to Albuquerque as soon as the meeting wrapped up. A team was being assembled in the Duke City and they were going to take this fucknut of an asshole down.

This had been a long troubled pursuit, but they were closing in, she could feel it in her bones. She had spoken at length privately with Evan and she was given clearance to stay on the case whatever and wherever it took. Evan had also mentioned that her mother had taken to calling the office and asked could she please get her to stop. She was haranguing poor Bruce. Mary pinched her nose, the start of a headache making itself felt. Her mother. She hadn't told her she was going out of town. Jinx was a grown woman. Why couldn't she take care of herself?

The plane to Albuquerque was mercifully sparsely filled. Mary saw with relief she had a row all to herself. Reclining the seat back, she closed her eyes, running all the scenarios through her head for the next day's raid. She was *not* going to have another fuckup. The flight attendant's familiar spiel was broadcast over the speaker system and Mary plugged in her iPod.

_She was sitting at a desk, leaving a message for Brandi. Worry gnawing at her gut. The tall man walked over as she hung up._

"_You just going to sit there staring into space all night?" He was watching her with a hint of a smile._

"_Just might. Why, you going to leave early and pretend you have a life?" She tossed the barb back with the ease of long acquaintance.  
_

"_I have many lives." The smile broadened a bit. He was enjoying this exchange._

"_Do I wanna know?" Heavy exhalation of breath._

"_Tonight, I study with the master." Excitement was evident as he brought his hands out from behind his back._

"_Study what?" He placed a small red origami crane on her keyboard. It balanced there delicately daring her to upset it. She glanced up at him._

"_Oh God, seriously? I was really hoping that was something you'd grow out of."_

"_Sadly, it's becoming a bigger and bigger part of my waking life. You have to admit it's good though." He looked quite pleased with himself._

"_You're a grown man folding and cutting paper." Faint hint of derision._

"_Correction, folding only. Cutting is kerigami, considered by origami artists to be the easier, and, therefore inferior path."_

"_Oh, origami. See, I thought you were doing kerigami. So origami's the sexy one right?" She got the reaction she was aiming for and smiled. He really was rather lovely._

"_Goodnight." He smiled as he turned back towards his desk._

"_Night." She picked the fragile crane up and inspected it, impressed in spite of herself. His dexterous fingers apparently had talents of which she was unaware._

Mary woke as the plane started its descent into Albuquerque, images of long slender fingers slowly fading from her mind.

* * *

Mary reported back to Evan once she reached her motel room. Willington had moved to a house near the Old Town and was under the watchful eye of the Albuquerque PD. There was not an FTF office in Albuquerque, but Mary was told she could have the use of several local marshals, plus the local constabulary. She met with Marshal Thomas Jelen along with her marshals she had picked up in Philly and Lexington and they laid out plans for the next day, coming up with contingencies for the most far fetched scenarios Mary could think of. Thomas promised her an additional two marshals the next day.

"I have an additional resource I can tap when need be," he had told her somewhat cryptically.

At the end of her conversation with Evan she inquired after Bruce. Evan hesitated.

"Bruce has something on his mind. He's been acting weird. I think he's going to ask to be transferred from you, Mary." Mary shrugged. Not a surprise.

"Do me a favor," she said slowly, "don't give Bruce the latest update. He's not involved in the op and doesn't need to know." Evan frowned and gripped the phone tighter.

"Something I need to know about?" The question was sharp.

"Gut feel, Evan. I think we have a leak. Just checking out a theory."

"You think Bruce is passing information to Willington?" Incredulous.

Mary was silent a moment. "I think there may be some kind of link. Willington has been just that one step ahead of us for months. He can't be that lucky. He's been getting a tip off. And there is a small pool of people that have had the details on each of the raids. Bruce isn't actively involved now, and doesn't need to know." The phone line was loud in the absence of Evans' response. Finally, he sighed.

"Okay. I'll keep a little closer eye on him too."

"Thanks, Evan. I'll check in tomorrow after we have this wrapped up."

* * *

Marshall skimmed through his inbox, quickly cataloging the e-mails that had arrived overnight. Noting a witness that would need a visit, he updated his Blackberry, then moved on to the daily ops updates. He glanced through, looking for any new information on the Willington case. His eyebrows raised in surprise as he saw the last sighting was in Wichita Falls and the suspect was believed to be heading west. Getting up, Marshall stuck his head in Stan's office.

"Stan, do you have any information on a fugitive case, name of Willington?" Stan looked up in surprise and handed over the bulletin he had been perusing.

"Seems there is reason to believe the suspect may be heading to Albuquerque. Marshal Jelen at District Headquarters has asked if I could loan a couple men if it becomes necessary. There's a big trial going on this week and he's a little short of manpower." He waited expectantly for Marshall to explain his interest.

"I'm in," Marshall said, studying the bulletin, "I've been following the ops updates and looks like this guy has led the Service on a merry chase. Caused some embarrassment too. I'd like to see the take-down."

He ambled back out to his desk and re-read the ops reports, noting the details and participant names. He pulled up a map of the United States to track the fugitive's movements. Studied the general westward movement. Wondered if there was a game plan or if this was just random running. Frowning, he looked back through the reports, found two mentions of lady friends. He wondered where the lady friend in the southwest was located.

Getting up to refresh his coffee mug, he leaned against the counter as he waited for the pot to finish brewing, the aroma of fresh Folgers filling his nostrils. He closed his eyes a moment, allowing his thoughts to return to the previous night's dream.

_They were sitting in the conference room, a new witness across the table from Marshall. The blonde (Mary?) had a bottle of a green drink which she periodically raised to her lips and took an unwilling swig._

"_Is there anything in what we just covered you don't understand?" She was curt, irritable._

"_Yeah. I'm a little unclear why you're drinking that swill." The witness was looking at her with a gleam in his eye that Marshall didn't care for._

"_I'm a little unclear why you think it's any of your business. Come on. Time to see your new home." She stood up and moved towards the door._

"_I can't wait to see what kind of castle on the hill 60 bucks a day gets you in Albuquerque." The witness was gazing at her ass. Marshall joined him in a quick glance before turning a disgruntled eye on him._

"_You should stop thinking whatever it is you're thinking." Marshall warned in a low tone. It bothered him far more than it should that the witness was displaying such open interest in his partner._

"_Oh. Come on, man. You mean to tell me you have a partner that looks like that and you still get pissy when guys check her out? Maybe you're the one that needs to stop thinking what you're thinking." The witness looked at him incredulously, tacitly calling him on his BS._

"_Hey. Let's go. Marshall, you coming?" The blonde looked at him expectantly and he blushed, turning away._

"_I have work to do." He was angry with Eps, angry with himself._

"_Suit yourself. Come on, Eps." She walked away, both men gazing after her._

"_You're going to make yourself crazy." The witness looked at him with a touch of pity. Marshall cringed. Eps was right. He was already making himself crazy_.

He opened his eyes as the coffee pot beeped at him and took his fresh cup to his desk, mentally bracing himself for one of his least favorite witnesses. After updating some notes, he gathered his coat and scarf, stuck his head in Stan's office to let him know he was leaving. Marshall made his witness visit, once again lamenting the absence of a partner. The witness was difficult. Crabby, petulant, critical. Not pleasant to be around and it was nice to have another person to share the abuse. He was a little on edge today, the dream disturbing him more than he liked to admit. After rather sharply suggesting to his witness that some solutions in life have to come from within and not from without, he headed back to the office.

Stan waved him into his office when he returned, noting the slightly pinched look on his senior marshal's face. Making a mental note to review the file again on the FTF marshal from Newark, Stan handed Marshall the request he had received for backup.

"This is moving faster than expected. That came in over lunch. Willington is confirmed in a rental over on Old Town Road. Raid is on for tomorrow. Gear up at 6:30 at APD." Marshall nodded, a smile flitting across his face. He hadn't been on a raid in awhile. It would be good to get back in the field like this. He left Stan's office with a spring in his step. Stan stared at the bulletin, his eye running down the names of those involved and slowly backed up to read one name again, his right hand reaching out to snag the file he had on the top of his desk for review. He flipped the file open, compared the particulars and smiled.


	7. You Make My Dreams Come True

Chapter 7 – You Make My Dreams Come True

Mary surveilled the assembled USMS agents gathered in the clear desert air of Albuquerque. Most she had been introduced to, although there were a few that hadn't been at the briefing this morning. Just additional backup, Marshal Jelen had told her, top notch agents that would be at the location for the op. Today was the day they would nab that motherhumper Willington. Months of work and chasing and frustration. Today was the payoff. Catch this asshole and then she could go back home to New Jersey. Not that there was much waiting for her there, but it was home and she was tired of being on the road.

Unbidden, snatches of her dream the previous night flitted across the screen of her mind. Another raid, another group of marshals.

_Walking out of the target house with a spring in her step. The familiar feeling of accomplishment, of joy almost, that came with the capture of a fugitive._

"_God that felt good. What is that?" Hands swinging, adrenaline high starting to taper off._

"_Triumphing over others makes you feel better about yourself. But now you have a brother in arms that likes the sound of shackles clapping on flesh even more than you, if possible." The tall man gave her an assessing look as he walked beside her, the sarcastic tone not lost on her._

" _Okay, seriously what is it with you two? Other than feeling completely exposed in my presence, which I'm really enjoying, I mean you guys are close right? You see each other every Christmas, talk every Sunday." She felt a small twinge of concern. The tall man wasn't himself. He was tense, muscles taut, even his stride was off. This visit from the parental unit was really upsetting him._

"_Christmas we discuss the best way to brine poultry, Sunday it's Mom's latest yarn based hobby. We assiduously avoid any topic of substance. And I get the feeling..." He looked away, venting a low whoosh of breath before shaking his head. _

"_What?" She truly wanted to know; to know what was bothering him._

"_He's here to study me." Frustration, resignation, hint of anger._

'Focus'. Her inner voice chided her. Her eyes scanned the tense agents waiting for the signal to commence their operation. It was a chilly day, but clear and the sun felt good on her face. There was something about the quality of the air here, everything seemed sharper in her vision, more vibrant. She stilled as she spotted a tall slender agent in a blue USMS windbreaker. Something tickled at the back of her mind. The color drained from her face as he turned and she was able to fully view his face. The figment. The man from her dreams. She took a step forward before catching herself. _Oh my god, he looks exactly like the man in my dreams_. Mary was unable to draw her eyes away. The figment was speaking to another shorter bald man standing next to him.

Marshall turned to inspect the gathered law enforcement agents one more time. He hadn't been able to attend the briefing this morning, but he had studied the bulletins, familiarized himself with all the names and bios of the participants. As his eyes flitted over the faces of the various team members he came to a tall blonde with green eyes. She was staring at him and he gave an involuntary start, staring back. The woman from his dreams. In the flesh. Standing not more than a few yards from him.

They drank each other in, first in disbelief, then in hunger, oblivious to everything and everyone else around them. Marshall had just taken a step towards her when Marshal Jelen gave the signal and everyone started falling into place around the ramshackle ranch house. Years of training and sense of duty and responsibility kicked in and Marshall fell back, moving to take his preassigned spot. He kept a careful eye though, on the location of the blonde woman. _Mary._

At the signal, the tall blonde and two other marshals moved to the front door, one of the men kicking in the door, the blonde through it before Marshall had time to blink. When three minutes had passed and no one had emerged from the front door, Marshall circled around to the back, taking up position next to two other agents already stationed back there. The sounds of a loud scuffle taking place were clear and Marshall's grip tightened on his weapon.

"Hold still, asshole, you don't want me to make you," came the clear voice of the woman. She emerged a minute later, with James Willington cuffed and in her firm grip. Schwartz from the Philadelphia branch was in the lead, another marshal from the Lexington office trailed behind with a dark haired woman in cuffs.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marshall saw movement, and turning, yelled before he even had fully taken in the skinny frame of the man emerging from the shadows of the back entryway.

"Mary!" The woman looked around wildly, saw the threat and smoothly brought her weapon to bear on his groin, never loosening her grip on her prisoner.

"One more step and you'll be a no-balled wonder," she said calmly, her expression showing no sign of hesitation. Skinny paused for just two seconds, which was all Marshall needed to come up behind him and pressing his gun to the man's neck, reach around and relieve him of his revolver. Mary lowered her weapon and met Marshall's eyes, giving a slight nod before continuing out of the back yard, tugging on the handcuffs of her latest collar.

* * *

Marshall waited patiently for Mary to emerge from Stan's office. Mary Shannon. That was her name. The fugitive was in lockup awaiting transport back to New Jersey. Mary would be escorting him back in the morning. Marshall listened with a grin as grunts and groans and several well placed curse words floated out of Stan's office. It would seem real life Mary was no more enamored of paperwork than was dream Mary. And this multi-state, multi-jurisdictional operation had a ton of paperwork.

She finally exited the office and came to stand in front of his desk. Her eyes flitted over his neat work space, each object in its proper place, no stray papers laying loose, breath catching slightly at the red origami crane sitting on his keyboard. Finally allowing her gaze to move up, Mary took a good long look at him. Yes, nothing had changed. He still looked exactly like the man from her nightly dreams. Marshal Marshall Mann she read on his nameplate. Her lips quirked up in a smirk.

"Are you kidding me?" Her finger pointed at the nameplate. Marshall halfway stood up and bent over to inspect the engraved plate. He unfolded himself to his full height and walked around the desk to stand next to Mary. To her chagrin, Mary found she had to look up to see his face. A grin was displayed as he shrugged.

" 'Fraid so. You'll need to take that up with my mother. She was rather hoping I _wouldn't_ become a marshal." He had to still an urge to touch her. They studied each other. Marshall had never been one for rushing into anything, but he was damned if he was going to let this opportunity go to waste.

"May I take you to dinner tonight?"

Mary hesitated only a moment. She felt a level of comfort with him that she knew was unwarranted, that she was transferring her dream man's qualities to this stranger, but what if? _'What if' __**what**__ you dolt? He is not the man from your dreams._ Nevertheless, she nodded agreement.

* * *

Marshall leaned back in his chair, happily full of good food and good wine, seated across the table from the beautiful woman of his dreams...literally. She looked delightful in a casual pair of black jeans and form fitting green tank top that brought out the dark shade of her eyes. His eyes swept over her appreciatively. The evening had gone well so far. They were getting along fabulously, had fallen into an easy banter with each other. Almost like they knew each other. He swirled the dregs of his wine in his glass, looking surreptitiously up at Mary. Watching her watch him.

"Do you ever have dreams, Marshall?" The question caught him by surprise. She was focusing on her own wine glass, the slender stem feeling awkward in her rough fingers, venturing quick glances at him. "Dreams that seem real? About total strangers? That follow you into your day?" He felt the palpable anxiety that lay under the surface of her questions. This was something that was bothering her, was an issue of concern.

Marshall's breath caught in his throat. He leaned across the linen covered table and grasped her hand. The soft murmur of surrounding conversations faded into the background. All he could hear was the soft measured exhalations of the green eyed blonde. All he could see were the troubled eyes that looked at him.

"Do you?" He focused his gaze on her with an intensity that took her breath away, blue eyes like lasers boring into her very soul. She squeezed his hand back.

"Yes." Her grasp tightened. "I dream about you." Mary stilled, unable to believe she had just blurted that out. He was going to think she was crazy. Just like all the stories she was sure he had heard about her by this time. Her reputation preceded her. Or worse yet, he would think she was desperate.

Marshall gaped at her, his heart beating painfully fast in his chest. His lightening fast mind considering possibilities, rejecting and accepting scenarios. A smile spread across his mobile face and he started a caressing sweep of his thumb across the back of her hand.

"I've been having dreams too." He let that sink in. Mary's pulse quickened. Had he been dreaming about her too? How was that even possible?

"You dream...about me?" The question was hesitant, shy.

"Yes, for months. Every night. But I never knew what your name was. You are there every night, though,when I close my eyes. I feel like I know you. Crazy, huh?" He was holding both of her hands in his now.

"Me too," she whispered. " I dream of you every night."

* * *

Marshall pulled his GMC into the motel parking lot and took in the unassuming facade, the garish flashing light of the sign, the sad, droopy flowers in the planters by the office entrance.

"Marshals Service goes all out for its best doesn't it?" He chuckled at the sour look Mary threw his way.

"It suffices," she said, casting a speculative look over his lanky form. The evening had taken a distinctly serious turn after the discovery of their integrated dreams. Marshall had talked about parallel universes and other dimensions and used big words until she had slapped him, called him numbnuts and told him to shut up. She needed some alone time to try and process everything. But not necessarily right this minute.

"Do you want to come in?" The question was more tentative in tone than she usually employed.

Marshall gazed out the window. What a loaded question. It was hard to judge just how much flesh and blood Mary was like dream Mary. So far, it was a fair match-up.

"I'm not going to go up with you." He was still staring straight ahead, but he could feel the disappointment rolling off her. He turned to catch her gaze. "I'm not going to be your cowboy." His tone was gentle and he reached over to take her hand, noting her flinch at the word 'cowboy'. "You deserve more than a cowboy. And I'm going to be so much more to you than that." His hand moved up to caress her cheek, fingertips grazing lightly over smooth skin, delicately tracing over the shell of her ear, sliding through her hair.

"Feeling pretty sure of yourself there aren't you?" Her tone was dry, but didn't completely mask the hurt.

"I know you, Mary. I know you from months of dreams. I can't explain it. But in one dream you told me I was your best friend, your only friend." Mary sucked in a gasp of air. Marshall stilled at the shocked look on her face. He shifted slightly in his seat, moving close enough he could feel her exhalations on his cheek.

"Did you have that dream too?" The exterior lights of the motel played on the planes of his face. A slamming door echoed, the sounds of an angry argument fading as it was continued inside the motel room. Mary couldn't breathe.

"You...you had been shot. I...I thought you were going to die. And we had been fighting." Her eyes slid away. She felt real shame, even though the episode had never taken place. She felt shame because she could see herself behaving the way she had in the dream. Her personality remained true throughout the dreams. Stood to reason Marshall's personality was true also.

Marshall slid his hand around the back of her head and he leaned in. "But we made up," he whispered before letting his lips close on hers, softly exploring, his breathe moist over her skin. Slender fingers maneuvered under the thick mane of hair and cupped her head. Gentleness, thoughtfulness, kindness exuded from him. Mary almost cried.

* * *

Mary sat in the WitSec conference room, fidgeting with her coffee cup. _WimpSec. Her dream man was in WimpSec._ Figures. She had seen him in action the previous day though, and he was no pansy. Marshall walked in, and gave her a wan smile. He leaned down, bracing his forearms on the table and spoke in a low voice.

"I want to stay in touch with you. Will you call me when you get back to Jersey?" Mary focused on his arms, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. She nodded absently, thinking she'd like to do more than stay in touch. "Will you call me every day?"

The question caught her off guard and she looked up at him startled. Marshall glanced behind him, carefully tracking Stan's location, then turned his attention back to Mary. "Actually, I would like you to think about transferring to Albuquerque, to joining WitSec. I need a partner. You can't hold on to a partner." At her raised eyebrows, he grinned and brought his head close to hers. "I've read your file. You are very, very good at what you do, but you lack people skills. I think your lack of people skills applies to bureaucratic BS and people who don't get you. You don't play the games and you lay it on the line. We could use someone like that. And I get you. Down to the very core of your being." The blue eyes intently watching her were so very...blue. Mary felt herself drawn in, drowning in those azure depths. _NO_. She quickly whipped up some righteous indignation, distancing herself from the temptation she saw leaning on the table across from her.

"You think I should give up my life in New Jersey and come down here to nowheresville to partner you?" She crossed her arms and glared at him.

"Yes I do." He leaned even closer and placed his lips on her ear. "I'll make it worth your while."

Mary felt heat flood her body as his words sighed into her ear on moist breath.

"I am very good at what I do too. I can teach you. And unlike your previous partners, I won't let you intimidate me, chase me away. You could be very successful here, Mary. And it would give you a chance to get away from your family. I think you need that."

Mary's eyes narrowed. Just how much of a background check had he done on her? Or was it strictly from the dreams? She was still glaring at him when Stan motioned her over and into his office.

"I'd like a word, Marshal Shannon." Mary grimaced. "This isn't about your fugitive. It's a personal matter." She stood up to join Stan and brushed past Marshall whispering, "You don't know me."

His fingers deftly caught her hand. "I do." Simple, forceful, earnest. If she looked at those blue eyes, she'd be lost. She kept walking, attention focused straight ahead, feeling in her gut that he did know her.


	8. Secret Dreams

Chapter 8 – Secret Dreams

Mary cast a gimlet eye on Willington, sitting far too smugly in his federally funded seat, and returned her attention to the magazine in her lap. She had been on the same page for thirty minutes, distracted by checking on her fugitive on the JPATS flight every few minutes. Distracted by the dream from the previous night. Distracted by her conversation with Stan McQueen that morning. Distracted by every minute of her time spent with Marshall Mann. Her lips compressed.

Mary Shannon was returning to New Jersey with more than a fugitive. She was returning with a job offer. An opportunity to join Witness Security. She was still feeling the shock that hit her when Stan told her the open inspectors position was hers if she wanted it. She would be partnered with Marshall. Something of which he was unaware. Stan knew a surprising amount about her. Was familiar with all her previous Marshals Service work. Knew about her difficult upbringing. Was well versed in her prickly personality. And he wanted her.

Mary swallowed with a suddenly dry throat. She had been forced to fight hard for everything in her life. To graduate from high school amongst three school changes her senior year and one very brief marriage. To scrape together the funding to go to college. To get accepted into the Marshals Service program. Her illustrious family had almost nixed that. Uncle Sam wasn't terribly keen on having the relatives of wanted fugitives on the payroll. She had to beg, plead, prove her worth before she even started. After completing training, she had difficulty getting an offer from any of the field offices in the east. _Jeesh, few little fights in school and suddenly you're a pariah_. Of course one of those fights ended with a hospitalization. Wasn't hers, though.

And now someone wanted her; Stan wanted her to come work for him. He thought she would be a good fit, both for WitSec and for Marshall. Stan had carefully explained that Marshall had been without a partner for some time, and that he needed somebody. And he intimated that Marshall would be an excellent teacher for her induction into WitSec.

She was torn. The temptation was large. A chance to get out of Jersey, away from her mother and sister. _It's the only place I've ever known._ A chance to do something new, something secret. _I'm damn good at what I do now._ A chance to get to be with Marshall. _ Marshall._

She closed her eyes, replaying the dream against the black screen of her eyelids.

_Mary exited Stan's office, followed closely by Marshall. He threw a disgusted look back at the closed door._

"_Whatever you want to do here, I'll back you." He leaned back against her desk, long limbs stretched out in front of him, as she sank into her chair. She sighed heavily. _

"_What I'm gonna do will probably get me fired, and if you get fired too, I'll have nobody to move in with and mooch off of." She scowled at her computer screen._

"_Lucky for you my interests are varied, my career options infinite. If this whole thing goes horribly pear shaped, whatever's next for me, my coat tails are always there for you." The air hung pregnant a moment, the subtext of what he offered floating ethereal in the space between them. The soft tone of his voice caused her to stiffen briefly, before she smirked._

"_Oh yeah? What's origami pay these days?" Dispelling the small moment with another jab at his favorite hobby, she glanced up at him, then back at her screen, not catching the small grin that flitted across his face._

Mary wondered if Marshall would really be that supportive of her. Why would he be? Nobody else in her life had ever been supportive. And he didn't even know her. Dreams couldn't count, could they? Fidgeting with her magazine, she considered the surprisingly vast amount of knowledge he had of her personal life, her personality. All obtained through the dreams. As she knew things about him also.

The plane touched down and Mary turned to pull her bag from under the seat. Catching sight of the smug face of her fugitive, she paused, alarm bells going off. He was far too knowing, too self-satisfied. Sharp green eyes traveled over his wrists once again. His hands were securely cuffed. She cautiously pulled out her phone and hit number '2' on her speed dial.

"Evan, we've just landed. Everything okay?" What was setting off her radar? She could see Pelman sauntering across the tarmac to the plane. Her frown deepened. Something wasn't right. A slight shiver ran over her, raising the fine hair on her arms. What was her partner doing here? He wasn't on this case.

"Things are fine, Mary, if a little weird," Evan replied, puzzled by the tone of her voice. Mary watched the flight crew prepare to open the door, noted the rolling steps positioned against the side of the plane. Pelman was waiting at the bottom of the steps, relaxed, joking with the ground crew. Mary stiffened, then frantically gestured at the flight crew to stand down.

"Stop," she barked, moving forward and gesturing sharply towards the door. The portly man sweating over the levers on the door looked up in surprise. "Don't open that door." The barked command brooked no argument.

"Evan, did you follow up on our last conversation?" She lowered her voice and turned a hard eye back on Willington, who was no longer looking quite so smug. His sharp eyes took in the activity at the front of the plane and zeroed in on Mary's phone pressed to her ear. She turned away so he couldn't read her lips.

"I've done some checking. Nothing so far, but Pelman has definitely been acting off lately. Uptight, anxious, far more interested in your cases than he usually is."

"Has he now?" she asked, twisting her head around to give Willington a hard stare. "Well he's here at the airport right now. Did you know that?"

* * *

Marshall punched the numbers on his cell phone with trembling fingers. He was actually nervous. Over calling a girl. He shook his head as the phone rang. He was not in junior high. The connection he felt to Mary Shannon was real.

The dreams were continuing. He considered the previous nights dream as the phone rang.

_They were at the office. Mary was grabbing her purse and heading towards the door._

"_You leaving early?" Marshall asked, slightly surprised._

"_I, ah, thought I'd go check on Mia, see if she feels like hanging out tonight." Striding purposefully towards the exit._

"_Ah." The one word spoke volumes. He was looking down at his paperwork, avoiding her eyes._

"_What. What's that mean?" She halted by his desk, watching him suspiciously.  
_

" _It implies understanding," he replied with a slight shrug, still refraining from meeting her eyes, focusing on a point straight in front of him. Mary closed her eyes in irritation._

"_No, it implies that you think you know something. Something that even I don't know. 'Ah' is Marshallspeak for arrogant."_

"_You like her." He reluctantly brought his gaze to her face._

"_I don't hate her." She made the face she always did when cornered about something._

"_Which for you is tantamount to eternal fealty. Would you go so far as to say that, under different circumstances, you might be, dare I say, friends?" He was now watching her closely._

"_What's your point?" Impatience flaring._

"_No matter what you do or feel for her, she's not going to be here for long. And that you can't change." His eyes were locked on her now, the subtle undercurrent of emotion, of things they didn't discuss or admit, flowing between them. Mary shrugged._

"_Yeah, well, what I can do is make it better. Thanks, Sunshine."_

"_I know, that you can make it better," he said, nodding his head, "just don't make it worse for yourself."_

"_I love when you talk to me in greeting card." A weak attempt to lighten the tone of the conversation._

"_I'm serious, Mary. That's why you're so lucky to have me. Where you're blind, I see." A thin trail of concern was visible through the cover of his words._

"_Where I'm smart, you're an idiot." Typical Mary response engineered to put distance between them._

"_Symbiosis personified." Mary walked out the door, Marshall heaving a heavy sigh as the door closed. They did live in symbiosis; each dependent on the other, each sustaining the other. His face darkened. She had become as essential as breathing to him. He anchored her and she forced him to think wider. He was by the book, she was by the gut. He was the sensitive one, she was the sensible one. They revolved around each other, like the earth and the moon, gravity exerting the occasional force that drew them closer, then inevitably drew them apart again. But each necessary for the other to maintain orbit._

At the sound of Mary's low contralto, Marshall shook himself and quietly greeted her. "Thought you were going to call me," he said, a hint of reproach in his voice.

"I've been a little preoccupied." She sounded tight, and Marshall went on alert. "Willington was in cahoots with my partner," she said tersely. "Guy was supposed to have my back and instead was selling me out, tipping off my fugitive to my every move." Anger, hurt, betrayal vibrated in her voice.

"I've been dealing with that and my mother ended up in the clink again and my toilet sprang a leak while I was gone. I've been a little busy." He could hear in her voice that she was approaching a precipice, that it wouldn't take much to send her off the edge. Treading gingerly, Marshall went for the safest topic first.

"Toilet fixed?"

"Water is turned off until the landlord gets in here to take care of it," she responded tersely.

"Okay. What about your mother? Is she alright?" He got a brief summary of Jinx's bail hearing and subsequent model behavior.

"It won't last long," she muttered, "it never does." Marshall winced at the resignation in her voice, then took a deep breath.

"What happened to your partner?"

"He's been arrested. Aiding a known fugitive. Obstructing an investigation. We're still trying to work out his reasons. Pelman has been very tight lipped." She was silent a moment. "I can't believe I didn't notice anything, I didn't see this!" It burst out of her like an erupting volcano. "I should have seen signs. I'm supposed to have a gut feel for scumbags. I'm supposed to be able to read people. I'm supposed to **know** my partner. I'm supposed...I'm supposed..." Her voice started to hitch and Marshall closed his eyes, wishing desperately that he was there with her. His hand flexed with the urge to touch her, comfort her.

"You are not Wonder Woman, Mary, close as you may come." He heard the soft snort and imagined the small smile flit across her face. He continued cautiously. "How long had you been partnered?"

"For three months." She fell silent again. Marshall could hear the wheels turning in her head as she considered her partnership with Pelman.

"Three months isn't long to get to know someone," he offered.

"I know you," she said flatly, " and I only met you two days ago." Marshall caught his breath in surprise. _Okay, let's go with this_.

"Yes, but you had some help with that. If your dreams were as accurate as mine seem to have been, you've had far more than three months to get to know me. My personality, my work ethic, my likes, my dislikes, my dreams...my desires." He pictured her face, staring at his imaginary form in front of her. A long silence stretched out between them, palpable with emotion, confusion, uncertainty. Marshall listened to the mingled sounds of her breathing and the faint din of the television in the background. He reran their good-bye the previous day through his mind. _Was it only a day ago? _

He had shown up at her motel room, coffee and bagels in hand and given her a ride to Albuquerque PD to pick up her fugitive from his overnight accommodations. Walking around the GMC, he had opened the door for her, the look of surprise and wariness on her face touching something tender in his heart. She wasn't used to this, a man acting like a gentleman. He gave her a hand as she got out, the high riding vehicle causing little trouble for her long legs. As she turned to grab her duffel bag, Marshall had gently grasped her wrist and tugged her back around to face him.

"Call me when you get home," he murmured, warm fingers pushing wind blown strands of gold hair behind her ear. The winter sunlight was stronger here and burnished the brightness of her hair. Her eyes had darted to his for a brief moment before falling to focus on his chest, her free hand resting beside the line of buttons running down his shirt. As her thumb started to idly trace circles around one of the buttons, she tilted her head to the side, considering. Finally she looked up and nodded.

Marshall had grinned and bent down to whisper in her ear. "I'll be waiting." Then he had kissed her, generous lips moving languorously over hers, the fingers clasping her wrist moving up her arm and around the back of her neck to firmly pull her to him. His lips traveled over her high cheekbone and down her neck. He felt the pulse fluttering under his mouth and sucked on it, knowing he would leave a mark. His mark; mark with a capital M, 'M' is for Marshall. He smiled and placed his lips on her ear. "Think about what I said." Then he had nibbled on her ear until she pushed him away, flushed and beautiful.

"Hey, Doofus!" Mary's sharp voice over the phone line brought his wandering mind back to the present conversation.

"Sorry," he murmured, picturing how her irritation would be making the heat rise in her cheeks, her eyes snap.

"Where'd you go just now?" She was curious, he could hear it in her tone.

"Just thinking about yesterday." He chuckled at the soft whoosh of air he heard traveling clearly over the miles between them. "Are you thinking about my proposal at all?"

She was silent for heartbeat upon heartbeat, Marshall envisioning her twisting her hair around her finger, her face scrunched up in concentration as she tried to decide what to say. He heard the faint clink of a glass being set on a table and the creak of her mattress as she settled on her bed, back against the headboard.

"Yeah," she said softly, "I've been thinking." More movement as his sharp ears tried to identify the slightly muffled sounds. "Hold on a sec." She must have put her phone down and he heard more soft swishes and a low click. "Okay," she said, the mattress giving off its sad sigh again. "That's better. The girls like to be free." He heard more swishes and it fell into place as his brain went dead. She was undressing and was now pulling down the covers. He tried to visualize her, imagined the striptease as she pulled her shirt off, unclasped her bra. He wondered what her body looked like. Lips compressing, Marshall chastised himself. He had turned down an opportunity to see what she looked like. He had to keep his eye on the prize, though. Mary had to come to see that his interest in her was far more than just physical. He wasn't going to be like all those other men in her life.

"I've been thinking. I've got to deal with the Pelman mess and Willington, but I'm thinking. I've had a rough day and I'm going to bed now, but I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?" The plaintive note in her voice broke his heart.

"I'll be here," he said, hoping she would understand he meant forever and not just tomorrow. "Sweet dreams." He smiled at her snort and ended the call. Staring at his phone, Marshall chuckled at the irony of his parting words. His dreams would certainly be sweet. Mary would prominently feature in whatever dream he may have that night.


	9. What a Day for a Daydream

Chapter 9 – What a Day for a Daydream

Mary gazed out the window of the FTF office feeling disgruntled and adrift. The gunmetal gray sky outside matched her mood, the low scudding clouds promising more snow. She grimaced. She really didn't like winter. An image of a crystal clear blue sky came unbidden to her mind, the mountains in the distance, the air clean and fresh. It may get cold there, but at least New Mexico wasn't subject to the dreariness of a New Jersey winter.

She turned away from her view of the Newark skyline and shuffled back to her desk. She was restless and unsettled. Sitting down, Mary reached for the sweater she kept on the back of her chair and pulled it on, idly picking up her pen and staring at the form in front of her. Her eyes closed, too many images vying for her attention. _Willington._ Locked up in federal prison. _Pelman._ Soon to join Willington. She cringed as the interrogation session started another rerun in her mind, the depth of his betrayal mind boggling. _Evan_. Looking at her with sharp eyes, concern seeping through like oil through sand. _Jinx._ Pleading with her daughter to get her off the hook one more time. _Brandi._ Getting in far too deep with that loser Chuck and his drug dealing friends. _Marshall._ Oh god, Marshall.

Her head was starting to throb, the beginnings of a headache making itself an unwelcome visitor behind her eyes. She slowly focused on the form again. "Application for Transfer". She didn't know if she could sign it. She didn't know if she could not.

Marshall had come up for the weekend. Her lips curved up in a soft smile as she thought about their time together. They had talked for endless hours, they went bowling, they ate pizza. Mary mocked his bowling form, gaped in amazement at the amount of food the string bean could put way and told him some of her darker secrets. Marshall found an art gallery and dragged her resisting form through the door and started spouting art trivia at her. He told her about one of his dreams involving an art gallery. She had smiled, although she wasn't sure about the part with her in a little black dress. They watched movies, Marshall cooked for her, tut-tutting over the poorly equipped kitchen in her small apartment. They necked like teenagers.

Mary had quickly grown to appreciate his slender fingers, the mobile fluidity of his mouth, the way he touched her. There was a hint of awe, of surprise in his face, as if he couldn't believe she would let him trace her skin with trembling fingers. There was respect in the feather light strokes on her skin. She had not made another blatant offer, and he had not pushed for anything. Waking up to the credits rolling at the end of some Star Trek movie, she had looked over at his slack jawed face, head resting against the back of the couch. Reaching for his hand, she had tugged gently, startling him awake and led him wordlessly back to her bedroom.

Pulling back the covers, she kicked off her shoes and crawled in fully clothed in the sweats she had donned earlier in the evening, and Marshall followed suit. He reached for her, surrounding her body with his and buried his face in her shoulder. Mary was asleep within minutes.

Pale winter sunlight had woken her at seven. She stretched and turned to look at Marshall, disconcerted to find his intense blue eyes on her. A boyish grin split his face and he leaned over to place a soft kiss on her cheek, languorous lips slowly moving down to capture her cool ones. They didn't stay cool for long. Heat rose and a white hot flame ignited within her. His arm circled her waist, pulling her in against him, before his palm spread across her ass and squeezed. Tongues dueled and fingers explored . As those inquisitive warm fingers worked their way under her sweatshirt and up along her torso, Mary sighed with contentment. She stilled as he gently closed his large palm around her breast and stroked her, handling her like she was a delicate piece of blown glass. Fragile and beautiful and capable of bending and growing in incredible ways he had whispered in her ear. His fingers ceased their hypnotic movements and he simply held the heavy weight of her in his hand.

"I'm not going to be a one night stand to you." The soft words penetrated her addled brain. "Come to Albuquerque."

Mary stared at the form, pen poised above it. "Come to Albuquerque." Words full of longing, desire, promise. So much promise in three words. Promise of self, of soul, of happiness. Happiness. Something she had never really had. And that tall cowboy was begging her to let him make her happy. His fingers had traced back down her ribs and come to rest on her hip, lingering on the dip of her waist.

"What did you dream of last night?" He had asked the question with a devilish grin.

"What did you?" She had countered, suddenly breathless.

"You," he'd said simply. " I dreamed of you."

Mary dropped her pen and pushed the form aside. Much of the weekend had been spent comparing notes on dreams. She didn't know what to make of the fact that they had both had the same dream the previous night. Maybe their brain waves were coming into synch. Marshall had been spouting off about some kind of neurological nonsense. She ceased to listen to the words and just listened to his voice, the deep timbre pleasing to her. He had started to relay his dream to her and Mary had finished it up for him, taking a measure of pleasure in the shocked look on his face.

"_So we talk to classmates, co-workers, try to get a line on where she is. Let's just hope she can lead us to Billy." Frustration bubbled up through his words._

"_Listen, I like your dad. Call it a soft spot for guys who don't bail on their families, rob banks and start new families, but I will admit to find Amber, he's got the wrong style." Mary glanced back at the older man under discussion._

"_If by style you mean all the subtlety of an armor piercing shell, then yes, agreed." Tautly uttered words out of a tautly held mouth._

"_You gotta look for her without him." She cut to the chase, as always._

"_If we peel off, he'll know we're ditching him and he'll be hunting us and trust me, even as a kid, hide and seek with that man gave me stomach cramps." Mary thought she would need to redefine her vision of Marshall's childhood. Her phone buzzed._

"_Hey, PD's tagged a van belonging to Liam. I could stake it out with your dad, tell him you had a WitSec emergency. Good enough?" She looked at him expectantly, as she gathered her things._

"_I wish I'd had you in high school." Longing echoed in his voice, shone through his eyes, as he tracked her movements around him._

"_High school me would have eaten high school you alive." Affection laced through the ironic words. He smiled, understanding the subtext. 'High school me was an idiot.'_

Well. They were dreaming in tandem now. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe they should be doing other things together as well. She jumped as Evan stopped by her desk and had to snap his fingers to get her attention. She glanced up guiltily. He jerked his head towards his office and Mary got up to follow him with a heavy heart.

Evan closed his door and waved her towards a seat. "I've spoken with Stan McQueen," he began without preamble. "I know he has offered you a job. I need to know what you are thinking. Have you made any decisions yet?" Evan watched her squirm, then shrug her shoulders.

"I haven't decided anything, Evan. I wanted to get through all the Pelman and Willington stuff first." Mary grimaced. When they finally got to the bottom of things, it turned out Pelman and Willington were second cousins, had grown up together. Pelman was the weaker of the two and had always done what he had been instructed to do by Willington. And Willington needed inside information after the bank job he had pulled in Elizabeth. Errors had been made and he could feel the FTF breathing down his neck. So Pelman had been instructed to get himself transferred to the New York/ New Jersey office. Through sheer happenstance he got assigned to Mary, the marshal on Willington's case. No wonder that crapweasel always wore that slightly smug smile.

"And now," Evan prompted, keenly aware more was going on than just a job offer.

"And now, I don't know. I'm thinking about it. I haven't decided."

Evan moved to his chair and sat down, taking a sip of cold coffee and grimacing. He pulled a file from his inbox and opened it.

"Is there a man involved?" The question alarmed her. Where did he get that from? She looked at the file he was perusing, suddenly suspicions.

Evan handed her the file and she flipped it open, her heart in her throat as she saw it was the personnel file on Marshall. Evan took it back from her before she could read anything beyond the identifying information. Mary looked up speechless.

"I had an informal inquiry from Marshal Marshall Mann. Wanted to know if there would be an open position here should his current plans fall through. I gather his current plans involve you." Evan's slate gray eyes held hers. "He'd be an asset to this department and I'd be glad to get him. What's going on, Mary?"

Mary was still trying to grasp the fact that Marshall had contacted Evan, that he was willing to come to New Jersey if need be. To be with her.

"_Please, come to Albuquerque." A soft kiss distracted her from the wind cutting through her wool coat. _

"_Marshall, I don't know. I'm thinking about it." Her gloved hand snuck inside his coat and grasped his waist._

"_Please." She had never seen eyes with such pleading in them. "Come to Albuquerque, Sunshine." Another kiss, more forceful. She shook her head miserably._

"_Okay," he sighed. "I'll wait. I'll call when I get home." Mary had nodded and watched forlornly as he got back in his rental and drove away. She felt a ridiculous urge to chase after the car and throw herself on the hood to make him stop. _

"Mary?" She drug her thoughts away from her early morning good-bye with Marshall.

"Yes," she admitted reluctantly, "there's a man involved."

* * *

Marshall gazed out the window as the flat desert landscape rushed up to meet the landing gear of the plane. He waited patiently as the other passengers jostled to get overstuffed bags out of the overhead bins and held the same conversation on their cell phones. 'Yes, I've just landed and am waiting to get off the plane.' He didn't have anyone with whom he could have that conversation. But he was going to do his best to change that. He would move to Jersey if he had to, in order to get her. He was prepared for a long pursuit.

The lanky lawman reviewed his weekend as he drove home from the airport. He smiled as the thought about waking up that morning, in Mary's bed, with Mary in his arms. He had laid quietly waiting for her to wake up and had drawn in a startled breath when he saw the painting hanging on her bedroom wall. The same painting he had in his bedroom. The first thing he saw every morning. The cacti, the wide open vistas, the blue sky. He took it as a sign. That was the first thing Mary would see every morning also.

Their conversations, their tentative early explorations of each other, their camaraderie. Everything just fit: their personalities complemented each other, their bodies molded soft curves to lean muscles, their minds were reasoned intellectual processes vs instinctive hard life experience.

Marshall drove home, hitting little traffic, and wearily opened his front door, flipping on the hallway lights and depositing his bag in the living room. He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the coat tree in the hallway, then ambled to the kitchen and snagged a soda pop from the fridge. Flopping down on the sofa, he listened to the crackling of ice cubes as he poured the pop into his glass. Taking a long drink, he set the glass down carefully on the coaster on his coffee table before laying his head back and contemplating Mary's unhappy face when he said good-bye. When he asked her to join him. Begged her. She wanted to, he felt, but she was scared.

She was the filling to the yawning hole he felt in his life. He needed to be with her. He would do whatever was necessary to make that happen. In New Jersey, if need be. But he felt in his gut, that the place for them to be together was here in Albuquerque.

His phone rang and he snatched it up, a little thrill of hope trailing through his stomach. Marshall grinned at the caller ID.

"Mann's House of Pie." Startled silence, then a low throated chuckle that made parts of him strain to stand to attention under the heavy denim of his jeans.

"Another talent you haven't told me about yet?" The humor in her tone was delightful to hear, the implication about his talents...well, that was delightful too. Marshall stretched out on the couch, relaxing now that she was on the phone.

"Oh, I have many talents. And pie makes everything better. Didn't you know that?" He was deliriously happy to be talking to her again. Even though it had only been, what, twelve hours? He caught the faint tinkle of his wind chime from outside his back door. The wind was picking up. There might be a storm later in the night.

"Yes, well I guess it can't hurt anything, except my waistline." She sobered a bit and Marshall felt the difference over the airwaves.

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with your waistline," he murmured, "I can span it with my hands." Marshall closed his eyes, his palms warm with the memory of her lithe waist encircled by his hands.

"You have freakishly large hands," she shot back, but he could hear the pleasure in her voice. "So you got back okay?"

He nodded, then realized she couldn't see him. "Yes, uneventful flight. Just tired now." He shifted, trying to get more comfortable.

"You didn't get a lot of sleep over the weekend. Neither did I." Silence fell between them. "I miss you." The softly uttered phrase caught him by surprise.

"You do?" He was now saluting. And grinning like an idiot. He closed his eyes, calling the picture of her face up on his mind's screen. Picturing her with eyes downcast as she made that admission.

"I want to come down, have a look around. I didn't get to see much of the city. See if I like it." Marshall's heart leapt.

"Of course," he said eagerly, "I'll show you all around. I think you may be surprised by what you see." He was pacing now, excitement and hope surging through him, his weariness tossed off. She really was thinking about it! "I'll have a pie for you, any kind you like."

Mary laughed and said good night, leaving Marshall in a euphoria he hadn't experienced in a very long time. He unpacked and went to bed, wondering what his dreams would hold for him tonight.

_They were sitting in an SUV, he having just pulled in to the curb. Mary turned to open the door as she unbuckled her seat belt._

"_Okay, what?" He shifted towards her, a look of curiosity on his face. She turned back to him in confusion._

"_What, what?" _

"_There's something else." He was watching her intently.  
_

"_No there's not." Her face crinkled up in scornful denial. He recognized the expression as one she frequently used when denying something that was true. It was a tell he found very useful with her. _

"_There is," he said with conviction, a knowing tone to the words he knew would irritate her._

"_Like what?" Defensive._

"_I don't know. I just know there's something you're not telling me." He wasn't backing down._

"_Stop, it's like you rent a room in my head." Irritation percolated up through her words. He knew she didn't like it when he knew what she was thinking. _

"_And somewhere in mine, you occupy a small pied-a-terre." Offered as a small appeasement. Mary would never know him as well as he knew her, but she did still know him fairly well._

"_Don't say pied-a-terre." Irritation backing off and resignation taking over._

"_And we're all allowed to close the doors now and then, so to speak, but it can't last. You won't be able to hold out. You're just going to blurt it out at some point. I'm giving you the chance now to blurt." His hands were gesticulating, emphasizing his point. Encouraging her to blurt._

"_No, no there's no news, nothing happened, there's no blurting. Okay?" He could feel her desire to shut down the line of inquiry, which strengthened his belief there was something._

"_Okay." Small sigh of resignation. Whatever it was, and he felt he had a fair idea, she wasn't ready to tell him yet._

Marshall woke feeling happy. It was a nice feeling. And his dream told him to go with his instincts in matters regarding Mary. He knew her, she knew him. It was going to be okay.


	10. All I Have to Do is Dream

Chapter 10 – All I Have to Do is Dream

Mary strolled the streets of Old Town beside Marshall, her hand gently clasped by his. She had been given a thorough guided tour of the city and its surrounding environs. They had just finished a meal at a quiet, secluded Mexican restaurant, where Marshall had educated her about the difference between green and red chilies. Mary smiled as she considered her day.

The man was like a college professor, infusing her with a steady stream of Albuquerque and New Mexico history, geography and culture. He had pointed out the positives of the area and unflinchingly discussed the negatives. The various residential neighborhoods were driven through, the major law enforcement issues listed, the political climate assessed. He was meticulous and fair in everything he told her. Mary's head was swimming with all the facts and figures. She glanced down at their entwined fingers. Her heart beat a little faster just seeing his hand covering hers. Maybe this was all she needed to know. Her fingers wiggled inside his and he looked over at her, tossing her the goofy smile she was coming to love.

Marshall guided her back to his GMC and held the door open for her as she got inside. He drove out east of the city, leaving the streetlights and neon glare behind them. Turning off onto a side road, he pulled over and stopped about a mile from the highway. The silence of the night was palpable after the engine was cut. They sat a moment, Mary's ears gradually picking up some of the nights sounds. The occasional whoosh of a car speeding down the highway they had just been traveling. The wind rustling through bare tree branches. Something that sounded liked a howl in the distance. Getting out, Marshall gestured upwards.

"Look at that sky, Mary, at the mountains. Breathe that clear air. This is all it should take to convince you." His head tilted back to take in the panorama of the sky sprinkled with stars. Mary was a bit in awe. She had never seen the unfiltered sky before. Always there was bleed in of light from the city. This was spectacular. Creeping around the front of the truck, she sidled up next to Marshall and slipped her hand into his. They stood silently gazing upward until Mary started to shiver from the chill night air.

Marshall wrapped his arm around her and drew her in front of him, resting his chin on her head.

"Close your eyes, Mary and just listen. You can hear the silence." Mary snorted in derision, but complied, leaning back against the comforting bulk of his chest. She tried to hear the silence, but found herself concentrating on hearing sounds. There was the breeze, sighing through the sagebrush. There was the sound of Marshall's breathing, slightly fast but even and regular. Eventually there was the sound of her teeth chattering.

"Okay, Marshall, it's really quiet. I'm freezing. Take me back home." She broke from his embrace and headed around the truck, unaware of the grin that crossed his face at her reference to his house as home.

Marshall inserted his key in the front door and pushed it open, the dim glow of light from the lamp in the corner of the living room giving off a welcome sense of home. He moved into the house drawing Mary behind him. As he quickly started a blaze in the fireplace, Marshall waved Mary into a seat on the couch, then fetched out a bottle of wine and two slender crystal glasses from the kitchen. Uncorking the wine bottle, he let it sit on the coffee table, the leaping flames from the hearth catching the ruby hue of the contents. Settling back beside Mary he tucked some loose strands behind her ear, fascinated by the play of light against the golden tones of her hair, the paleness of her cheek, the sparkle of her eyes.

Crackling logs provided a comfortable background noise. Mary watched Marshall's face, the angular planes playing hide and seek in the shadows cast by the fire. His full lips drew her attention and she scooted closer to him, leaning in to place a chaste kiss on those sensuous lips. Amused eyes sought hers and he kissed her back, gentle and playful. Marshall reached over to pour the wine and handed a glass to Mary, relaxing back into the plush cushions of the sofa, drawing Mary into his side.

"So, what do you think so far?" They'd covered a lot the last two days. Marshall not wanting to waste any time in his eagerness to extoll the virtues of his fair city. His fingers lightly caressed the back of her hand.

Mary was silent a long moment, sipping her wine, carefully reviewing her weekend that had begun well before dawn the previous day when she left her Newark apartment. This whole weekend had been like one long application and interview process for the city, WitSec and Marshall. She tilted her head up to look at him. She'd never known anyone like this fascinating man. His depth of knowledge, his joy of learning, his cheerful outlook. All things Mary would have formerly derided. But now, now she also knew about his deep well of compassion, about his expertise with a weapon, about his gentle nature, but also about the spine of steel that lay underneath.

This is what she needed, *who* she needed, to bring meaning into her life. This man would bring her back _to_ life. One of her recent dreams had cemented it.

_They were at the office, Mary at her desk, head slumped in her arms._

"_You know," Marshall said, standing up and walking over towards her, determination in his stride, " you know, we can talk now, or we can talk later, but, ah, talk is a-coming." He sat down in the chair beside her desk._

_Mary looked up and sighed. He could be like a dog with a bone. Refusing to let it go._

"_I'm fine." Her standard trite response, that so rarely ever went anywhere with Marshall. He knew her far too well._

_Marshall stared at her with his 'don't give me any of that shit' look and silently waited for her. She sighed again, resignation whooshing out with her breath._

"_Okay. It's just," she paused, then tried again. "When you got shot," she looked at him and Marshall nodded, "Uh huh." His lips compressed._

"_I mean you, you probably felt the same way, like you were stuck inside, like you couldn't move out of what happened. Like you see it over and over in your head, but none of it makes sense, none of it helps. And then the more you think about it the less clear it gets, so the more you think about it. You know?" She was watching him expectantly. Marshall was studiously avoiding her gaze._

"_No, none of that," he said._

"_Not a bit?" Surprise evident in her voice._

"_Reason being," he swallowed hard, " when I got shot, my best friend was there for me. Yours wasn't." Her heart quivered with the pain she felt radiating from him._

"_Marshall." She couldn't bear him taking the blame on himself._

"_My best friend caught the shooter. Yours didn't." His mental self-flagellation was visible and Mary groped for the words to relieve him of his guilt._

Regardless of whatever else they may be to each other in their dreams, they were best friends. Best friends that were everything to each other. She brought her eyes back to Marshall, her thoughts back to the present, to his question.

"I don't care about the city," she said slowly, "I just want to be a U.S. Marshal and to be with you, wherever that may be."

Marshall watched the emerald spark in her eyes deepen and knew his own eyes were becoming smoky blue in response. One slender finger ran down the side of her face, hooking underneath her chin and lifting up. He kissed her, softly at first, then more firmly, desire ratcheting up as tongues caressed and hands explored.

Marshall gently redirected Mary's hands that had only one goal in mind. He chuckled as he murmured in her ear. "I am going to have to teach you about the joys of slowing down, exploring, anticipating." He nibbled on her ear until she squirmed.

Mary trailed one hand down his chest coming to rest lightly on his belt buckle. "I think we have the exploring thing down pretty well," she said, brushing her fingers over the stiff denim covering his zipper and chortling at the strangled noise he made. She let her hand rest over him and tilted her head, looking at him speculatively, challengingly.

Marshall's breathing became heavier and he cupped Mary's face gently. "Mary," he exhaled a puff of breath, " do you think the dreams will stop once we do this?" He felt a twinge of regret that the dreams may end. _But look at what you're getting, Mann._ His eyes cut down to her passive hand then traveled over her kiss swollen lips and locked with her gaze. A slow, lazy, seductive smile graced her face.

"I don't know," she whispered, lifting her lips to his ear, "let's find out." Marshall smiled, then stood up, drawing her with him. Mary gave a short screech of surprise when he bent down and swung her up, easily carrying her squirming form down the hallway to his bedroom, his boots echoing on the hardwood floor.

He deposited her carefully on his bed, then turned to pull off his boots before padding over to the windows to pull down the shades.

"Don't want the neighbors seeing what I have in mind for you," he said, eyebrows lifting suggestively. Mary propped her head up on one elbow and watched him appreciatively as he undid the buttons on his shirt and pulled it off, followed by his t-shirt.

She glanced around the room, noting again the same painting she had hanging in her bedroom. She had been intrigued by it last night when she first saw it. Standing in front of it with her head cocked to one side, she had studied it, looking for differences between it and the one in her bedroom, until Marshall had come up behind her and begun his own tactile study of her differences.

He had reduced her to a quivering mass of need just with his hands. And he hadn't even removed any clothing. They had spent hours just exploring each other, discovering sensitive spots, learning what pleased the other. Marshall had surprised her with his boldness asking her in murmured tones how he should touch her, offering his hands to her so she could show him. But yet, he didn't take the final step, holding her off with a low sexy chuckle.

"All in good time," he murmured against the creamy curve of her breast. "Let a little anticipation build ."

Mary thought about the previous night as she watched her soon to be lover disrobe. He had been right about the anticipation. And tonight, she wouldn't be put off. His eyes told her he had no intention of making her wait another night.

Mary watched him moving lithely around the room, turning on the small bedside lamp and flipping off the overhead lights; moving a candle Mary hadn't noticed to the bedside table by her, the clean scent of pine suiting him; opening the closet door and pulling out another blanket which he set on the foot of the bed. He approached the bed, his movements reminding her of a panther. Long limbs, lean body, controlled power, muscles moving smoothly under his pale skin. Marshall stretched out beside her, the bed dipping with his weight. Mary looked at him critically. He was clad only in well-worn jeans, hugging slim hips. Her eyes were drawn to the long horn belt buckle. She let her gaze linger below the buckle, then move slowly up his torso, following the fine line of dark hair up his belly to the broader expanse of his chest. She focused on his flat nipples, wonderingly idly why men had them. Mary smirked, knowing that Marshall could probably tell her. Reaching out, she lightly circled one nipple with her index finger, watching it pucker and stiffen in response. Her own body mirrored his.

His slender build was misleading. He was a large man; tall, solid, all lean muscle. He was strong, she had seen that firsthand. All sheathed in a cloak of gentleness. And he would be gentle with her this first time. She felt that instinctively. She'd shied away from gentleness in the past. Gentleness implied emotions, feelings behind the act. She had always wanted sex to just be about sex. No getting away from it now; the emotions were there before the first time she had laid eyes on him. She was willing to give gentle a try.

His right elbow propping him up, Marshall lightly ran a finger down her torso before coming to rest on her hip. "This dance we're about to start needs someone to lead Mary. Someone to lead and someone to follow. Let me lead this first time. I need you to trust me, trust my instincts. I won't let you down." He leaned over to kiss her, gently urging her mouth open. "And you can lead the next time."

Mary opened her mouth to protest. She did not take a passive role in sex. Marshall placed a long finger over her lips and she stilled. Blue eyes begged and inexplicably, she acquiesced.

Marshall's long fingers flexed on her hip, his thumb smoothing over the exposed skin that peeped out between her jeans and her tank top. "Tell me about the dream you had last night." Mary's face was a study in confusion.

"I want to know," he whispered, nimble fingers starting a slow, seductive journey up from her hip over her ribcage, pausing to outline and caress each rib on the way. His hand came to rest just under her breast, the underside just touching the back of his hand. "Tell me," he urged.

Mary hesitantly told him how they met in their dream world, how she worked in the FTF and he worked in WitSec.

"And you came out to Jersey to get a witness. And I was awful to you. I teased you about your name and insulted you." She laid her palm flat against his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall. "We were assigned to work together to bring the witnesses back to Albuquerque. For some dumb reason it was felt the girlfriend needed a female marshal to escort her. Keep her virtue safe. I don't know. But we drove cross country together." She was silent a moment.

"We talked. In the car. About our childhoods. It was nice." Her voice was so low Marshall had to lean in closer to hear her. "You knew more about me after spending just one day with me, than most people did after years around me."

Marshall smiled as she finished. "You left out the part where you teased me about talking to Mom every day." Her eyebrows raised in a question and he nodded. " I do."

"Same dream I had," he whispered. "Symbiosis personified. Best friends. We are two halves of one whole Mary. And I think it's time to move on from dreaming in unison to living in unison." His hand moved down to rest trembling on the button of her jeans. "In my dreams, I think this is something I'd wanted for a very long time. I was waiting for you." Mary considered his words, thought about her own dreams and nodded. She covered his hand with hers, stilling the tremors.

"The wait is over Marshall. I'm here now. I'm ready."

"Come to Albuquerque?" They both knew he was asking another question entirely. She nodded wordlessly, and he smiled, reaching over to turn off the light.


	11. Mann of My Dreams

****Well, this is it folks. We have come to the end of the story. Our favorite duo will wake and find it's time to stop dreaming and start living.** **

**

* * *

**

**I adore you and no one before you could make me feel this way, yeah**  
**Since I met you I just can't forget you, I love you more each day( yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) **

**You're the one that I long to kiss**  
**Baby, you're the one that I really miss (yeah, yeah, yeah)**  
**You're the one that I'm dreamin' of**  
**Baby, you're the one that I love**

_**You're the One - The Vogues **_

Chapter 11 – Mann of my Dreams

Mary woke to the smell of coffee brewing and bacon sizzling. She turned on her back and stretched, enjoying the feel of slightly sore muscles. Settling back into the covers she turned her head and contemplated the depression on the pillow next to hers. The smile that came to her lips was natural and unforced. Marshall had been right. He didn't disappoint. He'd shown her some things she had never experienced before, all delivered with gentle hands, soft urgings and true emotion. Mary didn't know what time it was when she finally fell asleep, but she had woken at some point after that and simply listened to the sound of Marshall's breathing. Knowing he was there beside her gave her a feeling of belonging that she hadn't felt in a very long time.

Humming, she threw the covers back and made a beeline for the bathroom, the chill air causing her naked flesh to goosepimple. Delighted to discover Marshall had radiant heat in his bathroom, she took a moment and viewed herself in the mirror. He had left marks. Hickeys in various places. Branding her as his own. Neck, left shoulder, right hip. Turning around she twisted her head back and stared at the mirror, confirming an earlier suspicion. Ass. She touched her tender right breast. He seemed to have a favorite, had favored it with a lot of attention. A few bruises too, she noted as she inspected her legs. Not quite everything he did was gentle.

Mary viewed herself critically in the mirror, wondering what Marshall saw when he looked at her. He had murmured to her that she was beautiful. Did he mean that? His imprint was on her; the feel of skin against skin, heat against heat, hard against soft. And the words...Mary felt a flush creeping up her neck. He had actually talked to her, and not the 'oh baby you feel so good' type of talk. He spilled secrets about his longings, his hopes, as his hands caressed and whispered trails of fire over her skin. He shared his fears, his disappointments, as she explored the firmness of his chest, the tightness of his ass, the sharp angles of his face. He laid his heart bare to her and trusted that she wouldn't pull it, beating, from his chest. He really was lovely. _Think I'll have to keep this one._

She quickly showered and dressed, pulling her hair back in a loose ponytail. As she was ready to leave the bedroom, a sudden wave of shyness, tinged with uncertainty hit her. Well, this was unusual. Mary was never shy about sex, before or after. But she couldn't help but wonder: what was he thinking as he stood out there cooking her breakfast? Did he still feel the same? Did he mean those whispered words of love, of longing, of pleading? Those soft utterances urging her to open to him. To accept him. To surrender to him. The cold light of day could change things.

"Stop second guessing my motives and come get your breakfast." The deep voice called out to her, a clear note of amusement shot through it. He really did have a room in her head. Mary walked into the kitchen, hands in her back pockets. Marshall was standing in front of the stove, flipping pancakes. He slid the last two onto a plate already piled high and turned around to place it on the table, then swiveled to face her. Taking in the slightly wary vibe she was giving off, he walked over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"I didn't want to wake you. Thought you could use the sleep," he said as he bent down to kiss her. "Plus if I stayed in that bed with you, there would have been another round of...activity, and I need to go to work today." Eyes the color of the sky on a clear Albuquerque day deepened to the color of a New Jersey storm moving in from the east and Mary chuckled. "Are you trying to keep me from that food?" she asked, allowing herself a quick hug, her arm snaking around his slender waist, pressing herself close to his chest.

Marshall pulled out a chair for her and set orange juice and coffee in front of her. Mary eyed the tower of pancakes and rasher of bacon and smiled happily up at him. "How did you know?" she asked as she dug in.

"I've noticed your almost orgasmic relationship to food. Plus it came up in one of my dreams. Food has actually featured prominently in several of my dreams. You're a girl with a healthy appetite. And I've found it safe to go with anything I've dreamed about." Mary's fork halted on its way to her mouth and she looked up at him. He was dressed in jeans and a blue cotton shirt, top button open, overlaid with a black jacket. She glanced down; cowboy boots and longhorn belt buckle. She set her fork down slowly, regretting for a moment the loss of the additional round of activity. Her lips twitched; there had been two rounds of activity during the night though.

"Did you have a dream last night?" She watched him anxiously. The slight tinkle of wind chimes came from the back door, tickling a vague memory she couldn't quite grasp.

Marshall took a sip of coffee, savoring the roast blend, and looking at her over the rim, shook his head. "No, did you?" Mary gave a negative movement of her head.

"Maybe there won't be anymore," she faltered slightly as she thought about the loss of those dreams that had become so very important to her. She started eating, feeling a sense of mourning over the loss of the dreams that had been a nightly companion for so long.

"Maybe there doesn't need to be," he countered, helping himself to some pancakes and pouring syrup. The good stuff, Mary noted, real maple syrup. "We can wake up now and actually have each other there and not just the memory of a dream." He smirked. "Though I do have to keep pinching myself, prove that this is real, prove _you_ are real."

Mary's eyes took on a sultry expression and she set her fork down. Reaching for the neck of her tank top she pulled it down, grasping the edge of her bra on the way and exposed the purpled blotch on the curve of her breast. "I don't need a pinch," she said. "I have the proof right here," she paused a beat, "and other places."

Marshall's face took on an expression of contrition. He felt a slight shock at seeing the bruise marring her creamy skin. He knew he would leave a mark, but didn't think it would be so...vivid. Mary stopped him before he got rolling on an apology. "It's okay. You didn't hurt me. I don't mind being marked by you. Find it kind of hot actually." She reached over to take his hand.

"So, I'm going to talk to Stan today, see if he still wants me as an inspector." She hesitated. Mary had spent an hour the previous day, closeted with Stan, the job offer swaying in front of her like the proverbial carrot. Everything this job represented tempted her, but it was all contingent on one thing.

"If you still want me as a partner." Her eyes focused on her plate.

Marshall paused, put down his coffee cup and stared at her. How could she even doubt that? After last night, after his whispered admission to her, she could have doubts as to his feelings? He saw the flash of fear sprint across her eyes and softened. This was a damaged woman who had been required to fight for everything she had, everything she had accomplished. No one had ever loved her just for her. She didn't believe that anyone could.

Marshall squeezed her hand. "''Of course I want you as my partner. I want you as my partner at work. I want you as my partner in my home. I want you as my partner in my bed. I want you as my partner in my life." He paused, then grimaced. "I wouldn't mention anything to Stan about our extracurricular activities. It may cause some difficulties. Let's just take a 'don't ask don't tell' approach."

They were silent a moment, then Marshall stood up and cleared their plates, carrying them to the sink where he asked casually, "So, you're going to accept the job offer?" Mary noted the tension in his back as he ran water into the sink. He was nervous, unsure of her decision. She ran an appreciative eye over his ass before she glanced around the efficient kitchen, taking in the granite counter tops with their large work surfaces, the ample cupboard space, the curtains at the east facing window, the little deck off the sliding door into backyard. The kitchen was filled with early morning light. It was warm, welcoming. Made so by the man at the sink, deftly rinsing dishes. A man who could cook. She could do worse. And this man wanted her to spend her life with him.

She thought about his words, the various ways he wanted to partner her. No one had ever wanted that from her before. To be the other half, to complete the circle. And was that what she wanted? To fill that role of partner in so many ways?

Mary closed her eyes, recalling his hands on her body, trailing heat everywhere he touched her; his lips on her skin, moist warmth followed by cool air as he worked his way from the top of her head to the bottom of her toes; the pressure of his weight on her hips as he settled onto her, knees slowly nudging her legs open. She shuddered. The feel of him entering her. He took his time, wanting her to feel, to experience everything he had to offer. And she had, her body expanding to accommodate him.

The sound of running water and clinking dishes impinged on the edges of her awareness. Even behind closed lids she could see him in her mind's eye, standing at the sink; tall, solid, lovely.

"Yes," she said clearly. "I'm going to take the job offer." Her eyes opened to see him leaning against the counter, dripping hands braced against the curved edges. He looked like such a goof, all grinning and idiotic. But he was _her_ goof. And she had never had that before. Someone who belonged to her, who had given himself to her freely. Errant thoughts once more drifted to their lovemaking. Afterward, he had carefully fingered the Virgin Mary medallion she wore around her neck, the calloused pads of his fingers sweeping out in a radiating circle from the medal, whispering heat into her skin, before moving to caress her belly. He told her of the dream he'd had where she had gotten shot, had been seriously wounded. Long fingers traced an imaginary scar across her abdomen. She had dipped her head against his shoulder.

"I had a scary dream too, a few weeks ago, " her low voice had trembled with emotion, "You had been shot. I thought you were going to die on me, Doofus." She was silent a moment. "Were we ever lovers in your dreams?" His chuckle reverberated under her ear.

"No, I don't think so. Not for lack of interest on my part. But I don't think so."

Marshall smiled at her as he waved a hand in front of her, taking in her unfocused eyes. He knew where her thoughts had gone. "Good," he said, referring back to her affirmative answer on the job offer. He cast his eyes downward, studying the tile of the floor, thinking the grout probably needed to be cleaned. He cleared his throat.

"Last night was fabulous. At least for me." He still had trouble wrapping his mind around the fact that she had let him touch her. Her body had been soft and yielding under his hands. She had responded to every kiss, every stroke of his hands. And the feel of her; stretching open for him, encompassing him, clenching around him. But now that she'd had time to think, did she feel the same about a night that was absolutely magical to Marshall? "You felt," he groped for the appropriate word, "you felt right, Sunshine." Rather a lame finish, he thought to himself, but true nonetheless. She had felt...right.

Mary watched him, realizing he wasn't certain about her reaction. The slight hesitation in his speech was endearing.

"Marshall, you _were_ actually there last night remember? You know how I responded. Responded to you. Responded to how you touched me, how you kissed me . You were leading remember? You made me feel things, well let's just say some of the things we did are probably against the law in some states, and it probably should be illegal to feel as good as I did." She walked over to him and brought a hand up to cup his cheek. She looked into his eyes; rubbed her thumb against the freshly shaven smooth skin of his jaw. "And I want to feel that good again. Soon."

He gazed down at her, enjoying the light sweep of her fingers against his jaw. Smiling at the admission she wanted to have another round of activity. He reached out to touch her medallion, making a mental note to ask her about her religious beliefs. He cleared his throat.

"I have another dream, Mary, but this one is more of a daydream. It involves you spending your life with me, making a life together with me. Protecting me at work and kicking my butt at home." Mary grinned.

"And don't you forget that part about kicking your butt, buster," she said as he wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her in closer to him.

"I'm not under any illusions, Mary. You are a difficult woman. You've had to be. And I am well aware that I will be grating on your nerves at times. Especially once your find out about the sci-fi conventions and the quantum physics classes." He chuckled at her raised eyebrows. "I'll only make you go to one of those," he said, stealing a kiss.

"It better be the quantum physics," she replied dangerously, while an errant brain neuron fired and wondered if extensive study of physics played a role in his innovative kissing technique.

"Challenges will abound, but we already know we are meant to be together. Our subconscious has been telling us that for months." He pulled back slightly and looked down at her. "You're going to hate your witnesses you know." She smirked and placed her hands on his hips.

"I know. But I'll be doing something that matters. And I'll be doing it with you." She gripped his belt loops and tilted her head back.

"I need to get to work. You meet with Stan at 10:00?" She nodded. "Good. I'll be home by 6:00. I thought tonight we could..." He was cut off by her hand clapped over his mouth.

"Oh, I have plans for us already." She dropped her mouth against his ear. "And tonight, _**I**_ get to lead."

The End

* * *

****Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. I've been lifted up by your enthusiasm! Let me know what you think of the story as a whole.**


End file.
